la 


AMELIA-E-BARR 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


:-:' 


PRISONERS   OF  CONSCIENCE 


'HE  REPEATED  ALL  THE  BLESSED  \VOKDS.' 


(Seep.  250.) 


PRISONERS    OF 
CONSCIENCE 


BY 

AMELIA   E.  BARR 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1897 


Copyright,  1896,  1897,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


iV 


I07Q- 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  FIRST-LIOT  BORSON 

PAGE 

I.  THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  .  ,  '  .'.-.'  ,.       •       ...  3 

II.  JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE  ...  23 

III.  A  SENTENCE  FOR  LIFE      .        .  .      -..      .        .  44 

IV.  THE  DOOR  WIDE  OPEN        .       .  .        .  62 

BOOK   SECOND-DAVID  BORSON 

V.  A  NEW  LIFE 85 

VI.  KINDRED— THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD.        .        .       107 

VII.  So  FAR  AND  No  FARTHER 127 

VTH.  THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  ....  144 
IX.  A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  ......  169 

X.  IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH 192 

XI.  THE  LOWEST  HELL 210 

XII.   "AT  LAST  IT  is  PEACE" 220 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"HE  EEPEATED  ALL  THE  BLESSED  WORDS"    . 

PAGE 

A  LERWICK  MAN 33 

"THE  WATERS  OF  THE  GREAT  DEEP"  ....        55 
"'I  WANT  TO  FIND  MY  FATHER'S  PEOPLE'"    .  .91 

NANNA  AND  VALA 103 

"BUT  SHE  HELD  HER  PEACE" 133 

AT  THE  KIRK 137 

PEAT-GATHERERS 161 

GROAT 193 

ON  THE  WAY  TO  NANNA'S  COTTAGE 223 

"WENT  IN  AND  OUT  AMONG  HIS  MATES"      .        .        .       237 


PBISONEBS  OF  CONSCIENCE 


BOOK  FIRST 

* 
LIOT  BOKSON 


BOOK  FIRST 

* 
CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM 3 

n.  JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE    ....  23 

HI.  A  SENTENCE  FOR  LIFE 44 

IV.  THE  DOOR  WIDE  OPEN    .               ....  62 


PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 


THE  WEAVING   OF  DOOM 

|N  the  early  part  of  this  century  there  lived 
at  Lerwick,  in  the  Shetland  Islands,  a 
man  called  Liot  Borson.  He  was  no 
ignoble  man;  through  sea-fishers  and 
sea-fighters  he  counted  his  forefathers 
in  an  unbroken  line  back  to  the  great  Norwegian  Bor, 
while  his  own  life  was  full  of  perilous  labor  and  he 
was  off  to  sea  every  day  that  a  boat  could  swim.  Liot 
was  the  outcome  of  the  most  vivid  and  masterful  form 
of  paganism  and  the  most  vital  and  uncompromising 
form  of  Christianity.  For  nearly  eight  hundred  years 
the  Borsons  had  been  christened,  but  who  can  deli ver 
a  man  from  his  ancestors  ?  Bor  still  spoke  to  his  son 
through  the  stirring  stories  of  the  sagas,  and  Liot 
knew  the  lives  of  Thord  and  Odd,  of  Gisli  and  the 
banded  men,  and  the  tremendous  drama  of  Nial  and 
his  sons,  just  as  well  as  he  knew  the  histories  of  the 
prophets  and  heroes  of  his  Old  Testament.  It  is  true 

3 


4  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

that  lie  held  the  former  with  a  kind  of  reservation,  and 
that  he  gave  to  the  latter  a  devout  and  passionate  faith, 
but  this  faith  was  not  always  potential.  There  were 
hours  in  Liot's  lif  e  when  he  was  still  a  pagan,  when  he 
approved  the  swift,  personal  vengeance  which  Odin 
enjoined  and  Christ  forbade— hours  in  which  he  felt 
himself  to  be  the  son  of  the  man  who  had  carried  his 
gods  and  his  home  to  uninhabited  Iceland  rather  than 
take  cross-marking  for  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus. 

In  his  youth— before  his  great  sorrow  came  to  him 
—he  had  but  little  trouble  from  this  subcharacter. 
Of  all  the  men  in  Lerwick,  he  knew  best  the  king 
stories  and  the  tellings-up  of  the  ancients ;  and  when 
the  boats  with  bare  spars  rocked  idly  on  the  summer 
seas  waiting  for  the  shoal,  or  the  men  and  women  were 
gathered  together  to  pass  the  long  winter  nights,  Liot 
was  eagerly  sought  after.  Then,  as  the  women  knit 
and  the  men  sat  with  their  hands  clasped  upon  their 
heads,  Liot  stood  in  their  midst  and  told  of  the  way 
farings  and  doings  of  the  Borsons,  who  had  been  in 
the  Varangian  Guard,  and  sometimes  of  the  sad  doom 
of  his  fore-elder  Gisli,  who  had  been  cursed  even  be 
fore  he  was  born. 

He  did  not  often  speak  of  Gisli ;  for  the  man  ruled 
him  across  the  gulf  of  centuries,  and  he  was  always 
unhappy  when  he  gave  way  to  the  temptation  to  do 
so ;  for  he  could  not  get  rid  of  the  sense  of  kinship 
with  him,  nor  of  the  memory  of  that  withering  spae- 
dom  with  which  the  first  Gisli  had  been  cursed  by  the 
wronged  thrall  who  slew  him—"  This  is  but  the  begin 
ning  of  the  ill  luck  which  I  mil  bring  on  thy  kith  and  kin 
after  thee." 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  5 

Never  had  he  felt  the  brooding  gloom  of  this 
wretched  heirship  so  vividly  as  on  the  night  when  he 
first  met  Karen  Sabiston.  Karen  lived  with  her  aunt 
Matilda  Sabiston,  the  richest  woman  in  Lerwick  and 
the  chief  pillar  of  the  kirk  and  its  societies.  On  that 
night  the  best  knitters  in  Lerwick  were  gathered  at 
her  house,  knitting  the  fine,  lace-like  shawls  which 
were  to  be  sold  at  the  next  foy  for  some  good  cause 
which  the  minister  should  approve.  They  were  weary 
of  their  own  talk,  and  longing  for  Liot  to  come  and 
tell  them  a  story.  And  some  of  the  young  girls  whis 
pered  to  Karen,  "  When  Liot  Borson  opens  the  door, 
then  you  will  see  the  handsomest  man  in  the  islands." 

"  I  have  seen  fine  men  in  Yell  and  Unst,"  answered 
Karen ;  "  I  think  I  shall  see  no  handsomer  ones  in  Ler 
wick.  Is  he  fair  or  dark  ? " 

"  He  is  a  straight-faced,  bright-faced  man,  tall  and 
strong,  who  can  tell  a  story  so  that  you  will  be  carried 
off  your  feet  and  away  wherever  he  chooses  to  take  you." 

"  I  have  done  always  as  Karen  Sabiston  was  minded 
to  do ;  and  now  I  will  not  be  moved  this  way  or  that 
way  as  some  one  else  minds." 

"As  to  that  we  shall  see."  And  as  Thora  Grlumm 
spoke  Liot  came  into  the  room. 

"  The  wind  is  blowing  dead  on  shore,  and  the  sea  is 
like  a  man  gone  out  of  his  wits,"  he  said. 

And  Matilda  answered,  "Well,  then,  Liot,  come  to 
the  fire."  And  as  they  went  toward  the  fire  she  stopped 
before  a  lovely  girl  and  said,  "  Look,  now,  this  is  my 
niece  Karen ;  she  has  just  come  from  Yell,  and  she  can 
tell  a  story  also ;  so  it  will  be,  which  can  better  the 
other." 


6  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Then  Liot  looked  at  Karen,  and  the  girl  looked  up 
at  him  ;  in  that  instant  their  souls  remembered  each 
other.  They  put  their  hands  together  like  old  lovers, 
and  if  Liot  had  drawn  her  to  his  heart  and  kissed  her 
Karen  would  not  have  been  much  astonished.  This 
sweet  reciprocity  was,  however,  so  personal  that  on 
lookers  did  not  see  it,  and  so  swift  that  Liot  appeared 
to  answer  promptly  enough : 

"  It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  us  all  if  we  should 
hear  a  new  story.  As  for  me,  the  game  is  up.  I  can 
think  of  nothing  to-night  but  my  poor  kinsman  Gisli, 
and  he  was  not  a  lucky  man,  nor  is  it  lucky  to  speak 
of  him." 

"Is  it  Gisli  you  are  talking  about?"  asked  Wolf 
Skegg.  "  Let  us  bring  the  man  among  us ;  I  like  him 
best  of  all." 

"  He  had  much  sorrow,"  said  Andrew  Grimm. 

"  He  had  a  good  wife,"  answered  Gust  Havard ;  "  and 
not  many  men  are  so  lucky." 

"  'T  was  his  fate,"  stammered  a  very  old  man,  crouch 
ing  over  the  fire,  "  and  in  everything  fate  rules." 

"  Well,  then,  Snorro,  fate  is  justice,"  said  Matilda ; 
"and  as  well  begin,  Liot,  for  it  will  be  the  tale  of 
Gisli  and  no  other— I  see  that." 

Then  Liot  stood  up,  and  Karen,  busy  with  her  knit 
ting,  watched  him.  She  saw  that  he  had  brown  hair 
and  gray  eyes  and  the  fearless  carriage  of  one  who  is 
at  home  on  the  North  Sea.  His  voice  at  first  was 
frank  and  full  of  brave  inflections,  as  he  told  of  the 
noble,  faithful,  helpful  Gisli,  pursued  by  evil  fortune 
even  in  his  dreams.  Gradually  its  tones  became  sad 
as  the  complaining  of  the  sea,  and  a  brooding  melan- 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  7 

choly  touched  every  heart  as  Gisli,  doing  all  he  might 
do  to  ward  off  misfortune,  found  it  of  no  avail.  "For 
what  must  be  must  be ;  there  is  no  help  for  it,"  sighed 
Liot.  "  So,  then,  love  of  wife  and  friends,  and  all  that 
good- will  dared,  could  not  help  Gisli,  for  the  man  was 
doomed  even  before  his  birth." 

Then  he  paused,  and  there  was  a  dead  silence  and 
an  unmistakable  sense  of  expectation ;  and  Liot's  face 
changed,  and  he  looked  as  Gisli  might  have  looked 
when  he  knew  that  he  had  come  to  his  last  fight  for 
life.  Also  for  a  moment  his  eyes  rested  on  old  Snorro, 
who  was  no  longer  crouching  over  the  hearth,  but 
straight  up  and  full  of  fire  and  interest ;  and  Snorro 
answered  the  look  with  a  nod,  that  meant  something 
which  all  approved  and  understood ;  after  which  Liot 
continued  in  a  voice  full  of  a  somber  passion : 

"  It  was  the  very  last  night  of  the  summer,  and  nei 
ther  Gisli  nor  his  true  wife,  Auda,  could  sleep.  Gisli 
had  bad  dreams  full  of  fate  if  he  shut  his  eyes,  and 
he  knew  that  his  life-days  were  nearly  over.  So  they 
left  their  house  and  went  to  a  hiding-place  among  the 
crags,  and  no  sooner  were  they  there  than  they  heard 
the  voice  of  their  enemy  Eyjolf,  and  there  were  four 
teen  men  with  him.  '  Come  on  like  men/  shouted  Gisli, 
'  for  I  am  not  going  to  fare  farther  away.' " 

Then  old  Snorro  raised  himself  and  answered  Liot 
in  the  very  words  of  Eyjolf : 

" '  Lay  down  the  good  arms  thou  bearest,  and  give 
up  also  Auda,  thy  wife.' " 

" '  Come  and  take  them  like  a  man,  for  neither  the 
arms  I  bear  nor  the  wife  I  love  are  fit  for  any  one 
else ! ' "  cried  Liot,  in  reply.  And  this  challenge  and 


8  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

valiant  answer,  though  fully  expected,  charged  the 
crowded  room  with  enthusiasm.  The  women  let  their 
knitting  fall  and  sat  with  parted  lips  and  shining 
eyes,  and  the  men  looked  at  Liot  as  men  look  whose 
hands  are  on  their  weapons. 

"  So,"  continued  Liot,  "  the  men  made  for  the  crags ; 
but  Gisli  fought  like  a  hero,  and  in  that  bout  four  men 
were  slain.  And  when  they  were  least  aware  Gisli 
leaped  on  a  crag,  that  stands  alone  there  and  is  called 
Oneman's  Crag,  and  there  he  turned  at  bay  and  called 
out  to  Eyjolf,  '  I  wish  to  make  those  three  hundred  in 
silver,  which  thou  hast  taken  as  the  price  of  my  head, 
as  dear  bought  as  I  can;  and  before  we  part  thou 
wouldst  give  other  three  hundred  in  silver  that  we  had 
never  met ;  for  thou  wilt  only  take  disgrace  for  loss 
of  life.'  Then  their  onslaught  was  harder  and  hotter, 
and  they  gave  Gisli  many  spear-thrusts ;  but  he  fought 
on  wondrously,  and  there  was  not  one  of  them  with 
out  a  wound  who  came  nigh  him.  At  last,  full  of 
great  hurts,  Gisli  bade  them  wait  awhile  and  they 
should  have  the  end  they  wanted ;  for  he  would  have 
time  to  sing  this  last  song  to  his  faithful  Auda  : 

'Wife,  so  fair,  so  never-failing, 

So  truly  loved,  so  sorely  cross'd, 
Thou  wilt  often  miss  me,  wailing ; 

Thou  wilt  weep  thy  hero  lost. 
But  my  heart  is  stout  as  ever ; 

Swords  may  bite,  I  feel  no  smart ; 
Father !  better  heirloom  never 

Owned  thy  son  than  fearless  heart.' 

And  with  these  words  he  rushed  down  from  the  crag 
and  clove  Thord— who  was  Eyjolf  s  kinsman— to  the 


THE  WEAVING  OP  DOOM  9 

very  belt.  There  Gisli  lost  his  life  with  many  great 
and  sore  wounds.  He  never  turned  his  heel,  and 
none  of  them  saw  that  his  strokes  were  lighter,  the 
last  than  the  first.  They  buried  him  by  the  sea,  and 
at  his  grave  the  sixth  man  breathed  his  last ;  and  on 
the  same  night  the  seventh  man  breathed  his  last; 
and  an  eighth  lay  bedridden  for  twelve  months  and 
died.  And  though  the  rest  were  healed,  they  got  noth 
ing  but  shame  for  their  pains.  Thus  Gisli  came  to  his 
grave ;  and  it  has  always  been  said,  by  one  and  all, 
that  there  never  was  a  more  famous  defense  made  by 
one  man  in  any  time,  of  which  the  truth  is  known ;  but 
he  was  not  lucky  in  anything." 

"  I  will  doubt  that,"  said  Gust  Havard.  "  He  had 
Auda  to  wife,  and  never  was  there  a  woman  more 
beautiful  and  loving  and  faithful.  He  had  love-luck, 
if  he  had  no  other  luck.  God  give  us  all  such  wives 
as  Auda ! " 

"Well,  then,"  answered  Matilda,  "a  man's  fate  is 
his  wife,  and  she  is  of  his  own  choosing ;  and,  what  is 
more,  a  good  husband  makes  a  good  wife."  Then, 
suddenly  stopping,  she  listened  a  moment  and  added : 
"  The  minister  is  come,  and  we  shall  hear  from  him 
still  better  words.  But  sit  down,  Liot;  you  have 
passed  the  hour  well,  as  you  always  do." 

The  minister  came  in  with  a  smile,  and  he  was 
placed  in  the  best  chair  and  made  many  times  wel 
come.  It  was  evident  in  a  moment  that  he  had  brought 
a  different  spirit  with  him ;  the  old  world  vanished 
away,  and  the  men  and  women  that  a  few  minutes 
before  had  been  so  close  to  it  suffered  a  transforma 
tion.  As  the  minister  entered  the  room  they  became 


10  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

in  a  moment  members  of  the  straitest  Christian  kirk 
—quiet,  hard-working  fishers,  and  douce,  home-keep 
ing  women.  He  said  the  night  was  bad  and  black,  and 
spoke  of  the  boats  and  the  fishers  in  them.  And  the 
men  talked  solemnly  about  the  "  takes  "  and  the  kirk 
meetings,  while  some  of  the  women  knitted  and  listened, 
and  others  helped  Matilda  and  Karen  to  set  the  table 
with  goose  and  fish,  and  barley  and  oaten  cakes,  and  the 
hot,  sweet  tea  which  is  the  Shetlander's  favorite  drink. 
Many  meals  in  a  lifetime  people  eat,  and  few  are 
remembered ;  but  when  they  are  "  eventful,"  how  sweet 
or  bitter  is  that  bread-breaking !  This  night  Liot's 
cake  and  fish  and  cup  of  tea  were  as  angels'  food. 
Karen  broke  her  cake  with  him,  and  she  sweetened 
his  cup,  and  smiled  at  him  and  talked  to  him  as  he 
ate  and  drank  with  her.  And  when  at  last  they  stood 
up  for  the  song  and  thanksgiving  he  held  her  hand  in 
his,  and  their  voices  blended  in  the  noble  sea  psalm, 
so  dear  to  every  seafarer's  heart : 

"  The  floods,  O  Lord,  have  lifted  up, 

They  lifted  up  their  voice ! 
The  floods  have  lifted  up  their  waves 
And  made  a  mighty  noise. 

"  But  yet  the  Lord,  that  is  on  high, 

Is  more  of  might  by  far 
Than  noise  of  many  waters  is, 
Or  great  sea-billows  are." 

Soft  and  loud  the  singing  swelled,  and  the  short 
thanksgiving  followed  it.  To  bend  his  head  and  hold 
Karen's  hand  while  the  blessing  fell  on  his  ears  was 
heaven  on  earth  to  Liot ;  such  happiness  he  had  never 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  11 

known  before— never  even  dreamed  of.  He  walked 
home  through  the  buffeting  wind  and  the  drenching 
rain,  and  felt  neither;  for  he  was  saying  over  and 
over  to  himself,  "  I  have  found  my  wife !  I  have  found 
my  wife ! " 

Karen  had  the  same  prepossession.  As  she  unbound 
her  long,  fair  hair  she  thought  of  Liot.  Slowly  unplait- 
ing  strand  from  strand,  she  murmured  to  her  heart  as 
she  did  so : 

"  Such  a  man  as  Liot  Borson  I  have  never  met  be 
fore.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  loved  me  as  soon  as 
he  looked  at  me ;  well,  then,  Liot  Borson  shall  be  my 
husband— Liot,  and  only  Liot,  will  I  marry." 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  winter  that  this  took 
place,  and  it  was  a  kind  of  new  birth  to  Liot.  Hith 
erto  he  had  been  a  silent  man  about  his  work ;  he  now 
began  to  talk  and  to  sing,  and  even  to  whistle ;  and, 
as  every  one  knows,  whistling  is  the  most  cheerful 
sound  that  comes  from  human  lips.  People  wondered 
a  little  and  said,  "It  is  Karen  Sabiston,  and  it  is  a 
good  thing."  Also,  the  doubts  and  fears  that  usually 
trouble  the  beginnings  of  love  were  absent  in  this 
case.  Wherever  Liot  and  Karen  had  learned  each 
other,  the  lesson  had  been  perfected.  At  their  third 
meeting  he  asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  and  she  answered 
with  simple  honesty,  "  That  is  my  desire." 

This  betrothal  was,  however,  far  from  satisfactory 
to  Karen's  aunt ;  she  could  bring  up  nothing  against 
Liot,  but  she  was  ill  pleased  with  Karen.  "  You  have 
some  beauty,"  she  said,  "  and  you  have  one  hundred 
pounds  of  your  own ;  and  it  was  to  be  expected  that 
you  would  look  to  better  yourself  a  little." 


12  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Have  I  not  done  so  ?    Liot  is  the  best  of  men." 

"And  the  best  of  men  are  but  men  at  best.  It  is 
not  of  Liot  I  think,  but  of  Liot's  money ;  he  is  but 
poor,  and  you  know  little  of  him.  Those  before  us 
have  said  wisely, '  Ere  you  run  in  double  harness,  look 
well  to  the  other  horse.' " 

"  My  heart  tells  me  that  I  have  done  right,  aunt." 

"Your  heart  cannot  foretell,  but  you  might  have 
sense  enough  to  f  orethink ;  and  it  is  sure  that  I  little 
dreamed  of  this  when  I  brought  you  here  from  the 
naked  gloom  of  Yell." 

"  It  is  true  your  word  brought  me  here,  but  I  think 
it  was  Liot  who  called  me  by  you." 

"  It  was  not.  When  my  tongue  speaks  for  any  Bor- 
son,  I  wish  that  it  may  speak  no  more !  I  like  none 
of  them.  Liot  is  good  at  need  on  a  winter's  night ;  but 
even  so,  all  his  stories  are  of  dool  and  wrong-doing 
and  bloody  vengeance.  From  his  own  words  it  is  seen 
that  the  Borsons  have  ever  been  well-hated  men.  Now, 
I  have  forty  years  more  of  this  life  than  you  have,  and 
I  tell  you  plainly  I  think  little  of  your  choice ;  what 
ever  sorrow  comes  of  it,  mind  this :  I  did  n't  give  you 
leave  to  make  it." 

"  Nor  did  I  ask  your  leave,  aunt ;  each  heart  knows 
its  own ;  but  you  have  a  way  to  throw  cold  water  upon 
every  hope." 

"  There  are  hopes  I  wish  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
To  be  sure,  when  ill  is  fated  some  one  must  speak  the 
words  that  bring  it  about ;  but  I  wish  it  had  been  any 
other  but  myself  who  wrote,  'Come  to  Lerwick'; 
for  I  little  thought  I  was  writing,  'Come  to  Liot 
Borson.'  As  every  one  knows,  he  is  the  son  of  un- 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  13 

lucky  folk;  from  father  to  son  nothing  goes  well 
with  them." 

"  I  will  put  my  luck  to  his,  and  you  will  learn  to 
think  better  of  Liot  for  my  sake,  aunt." 

"Not  while  my  life-days  last !  That  is  a  naked  say, 
and  there  's  no  more  to  it." 

Matilda's  dislike,  however,  did  not  seriously  inter 
fere  with  Liot's  and  Karen's  happiness.  It  was  more 
passive  than  active ;  it  was  more  virulent  when  he  was 
absent  than  when  he  was  present ;  and  all  winter  she 
suffered  him  to  visit  at  her  house.  These  visits  had 
various  fortunes,  but,  good  or  bad,  the  season  wore 
away  with  them ;  and  as  soon  as  April  came  Liot  be 
gan  to  build  his  house.  Matilda  scoffed  at  his  hurry. 
"  Does  he  think,"  she  cried,  "  that  he  can  marry  Karen 
Sabiston  when  he  lists  to  ?  Till  you  are  twenty-one 
you  are  in  my  charge,  and  I  will  take  care  to  prevent 
such  folly  as  long  as  I  can." 

"Well,  then,  aunt,  I  shall  be  of  age  and  my  own 
mistress  next  Christmas,  and  on  Uphellya  night1  I 
will  be  married  to  Liot." 

"  After  that  we  shall  have  nothing  to  say  to  each 
other." 

"  It  will  not  be  my  fault." 

"It  will  be  my  will.  However,  if  you  are  in  love 
with  ill  luck  and  fated  for  Liot  Borson,  you  must  dree 
your  destiny ;  and  Liot  does  well  to  build  his  home, 
for  he  shall  not  wive  himself  out  of  my  walls." 

"  It  will  be  more  shame  to  you  than  to  me,  aunt,  if 
I  am  not  married  from  your  house ;  also,  people  will 
speak  evil  of  you." 

1  The  last  day  of  Christmas-tide. 


14  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  That  is  to  be  expected ;  but  I  will  not  be  so  ill  to 
myself  as  to  make  a  feast  for  a  man  I  hate.  How 
ever,  there  are  eight  months  before  Uphellya,  and  many 
chances  and  changes  may  come  in  eight  months." 

The  words  were  a  prophecy.  As  Matilda  uttered 
them  Thora  Fay  entered  the  room,  all  aglow  with  ex 
citement.  "  There  is  a  new  ship  in  the  harbor !  "  she 
cried.  "She  is  called  the  Frigate  Bird,  and  she  has 
silk  and  linen  and  gold  ornaments  for  sale,  besides 
tea  and  coffee  and  the  finest  of  spirits.  As  for  the 
captain,  he  is  as  handsome  as  can  be,  and  my  brother 
thinks  him  a  man  of  some  account." 

"  You  bring  good  news,  Thora,"  said  Matilda.  "  I 
would  gladly  see  the  best  of  whatever  is  for  sale,  and 
I  wish  your  brother  to  let  so  much  come  to  the  man's 
ears." 

"  I  will  look  to  that,"  answered  Thora.  "  Every  one 
knows  there  is  to  be  a  wedding  in  your  house  very 
soon."  And  with  these  words  she  nodded  at  Karen, 
and  went  smiling  away  with  her  message. 

A  few  hours  afterward  Captain  Bele  Trenby  of 
the  Frigate  Bird  stepped  across  Matilda  Sabiston's 
threshold.  It  was  the  first  step  toward  his  death- 
place,  though  he  knew  it  not ;  he  took  it  with  a  laugh 
and  a  saucy  compliment  to  the  pretty  servant  who 
opened  the  door  for  him,  and  with  the  air  of  one  ac 
customed  to  being  welcome  went  into  Matilda  Sabis- 
ton's  presence.  He  delighted  the  proud,  wilful  old 
woman  as  soon  as  she  saw  him ;  his  black  eyes  and 
curling  black  hair,  the  dare-devil  look  on  his  face,  and 
the  fearless  dash  of  his  manner  reminded  her  of  Paul 
Sabiston,  the  husband  of  her  youth.  She  opened  her 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  15 

heart  and  her  purse  to  the  bold  free-trader ;  she  made 
him  eat  and  drink,  and  with  a  singular  imprudence 
told  him  of  secret  ways  in  and  out  of  the  voes,  and 
of  hiding-places  in  the  coast  caverns  that  had  been 
known  to  her  husband.  And  as  she  talked  she  grew 
handsome;  so  much  so  that  Karen  let  her  knitting 
fall  to  watch  her  aunt's  face  as  she  described  Paul 
Sabiston's  swift  cutter— "  a  mass  of  snowy  canvas, 
stealing  in  and  out  of  the  harbor  like  a  cloud." 

The  coming  of  this  man  was  the  beginning  of  sor 
row.  In  a  few  days  he  understood  the  situation,  and 
he  resolved  to  marry  Karen  Sabiston.  Her  fair,  stately 
beauty  charmed  him,  and  he  had  no  doubt  she  would 
inherit  her  aunt's  wealth ;  that  she  was  cold  and  shy 
only  stimulated  his  love,  and  as  for  Liot,  he  held  his 
pretensions  in  contempt.  All  summer  he  sailed  be 
tween  Holland  and  Shetland,  and  the  Lerwick  people 
gave  him  good  trade  and  good  welcome.  With  Matilda 
Sabiston  he  had  his  own  way ;  she  did  whatever  he 
wished  her  to  do.  Only  at  Karen  her  power  stopped 
short ;  neither  promises  nor  threats  would  induce  the 
girl  to  accept  Bele  as  her  lover;  and  Matilda,  accus 
tomed  to  drive  her  will  through  the  teeth  of  every 
one,  was  angry  morning,  noon,  and  night  with  her 
disobedient  niece. 

As  the  months  wore  on  Liot's  position  became  more 
and  more  painful  and  humiliating,  and  he  had  hard 
work  to  keep  his  hands  off  Bele  when  they  met  on  the 
pier  or  in  the  narrow  streets  of  the  town.  His  smile, 
his  voice,  his  face,  his  showy  dress  and  hectoring  man 
ner,  all  fed  in  Liot's  heart  that  bitter  "hatred  which 
springs  from  a  sense  of  being  personally  held  in  con- 


16  PRISONERS  OP  CONSCIENCE 

tempt ;  he  felt,  also,  that  even  among  his  fellow-towns 
men  he  was  belittled  and  injured  by  this  plausible, 
handsome  stranger.  For  Bele  said  very  much  what 
it  pleased  him  to  say,  covering  his  insolences  with  a 
laugh  and  with  a  jovial,  jocular  air,  that  made  resent 
ment  seem  ridiculous.  Bele  was  also  a  gift-giver,  and 
for  every  woman,  old  or  young,  he  had  a  compliment 
or  a  ribbon. 

If  Liot  had  been  less  human,  if  he  had  come  from 
a  more  mixed  race,  if  his  feelings  had  been  educated 
down  and  toned  to  the  level  of  modern  culture,  he 
could  possibly  have  looked  forward  to  Uphellya  night, 
and  found  in  the  joy  and  triumph  that  Karen  would 
then  give  him  a  sufficient  set-off  to  all  Bele's  injuries  and 
impertinences.  But  he  was  not  made  thus ;  his  very 
blood  came  to  him  through  the  hearts  of  vikings  and 
berserkers,  and  as  long  as  one  drop  of  this  fierce  stream 
remained  in  his  veins,  moments  were  sure  to  come  in 
the  which  it  would  render  all  the  tide  of  lif e  insurgent. 

It  is  true  Liot  was  a  Christian  and  a  good  man ;  but 
it  must  be  noted,  in  order  to  do  him  full  justice,  that 
the  form  of  Christianity  which  was  finally  and  passion 
ately  accepted  by  his  race  was  that  of  ultra-Calvinism ; 
it  spoke  to  their  inherited  tendencies  as  no  other  creed 
could  have  done.  This  uncompromising  theology, 
with  its  God  of  vengeance  and  inflexible  justice,  was 
understood  by  men  who  considered  a  blood-feud  of 
centuries  a  duty  never  to  be  neglected ;  and  as  for  the 
doctrine  of  a  special  election,  with  all  its  tremendous 
possibilities  of  damnation,  they  were  not  disposed  to 
object  to  it.  Indeed,  they  were  such  good  haters  that 
Tophet  and  everlasting  enmity  were  the  bane  and  doom 


THE  WEAVING  OF  DOOM  17 

they  would  have  unhesitatingly  chosen  for  their  ene 
mies.  This  giim  theology  Liot  sucked  in  with  his 
mother's  milk,  and  both  by  inheritance  and  by  a  strong 
personal  faith  he  was  a  child  of  God  after  the  order  of 
John  Calvin. 

Therefore  he  constantly  brought  his  enemy  to  the 
ultimate  and  immutable  tribunal  of  his  faith,  and  just 
as  constantly  condemned  him  there.  Nothing  was 
surer  in  Liot's  mind  than  that  Bele  Trenby  was  the 
child  of  the  Evil  One  and  an  inheritor  of  the  kingdom 
of  wrath ;  for  Bele  did  the  works  of  his  father  every 
day,  and  every  hour  of  the  day,  and  Liot  told  himself 
that  it  was  impossible  there  should  be  any  fellowship 
between  them.  To  Bele  he  said  nothing  of  this  spir 
itual  superiority,  and  yet  it  was  obvious  in  his  constant 
air  of  disapproval  and  dissent,  in  his  lofty  silence,  his 
way  of  not  being  conscious  of  Bele's  presence  or  of 
totally  ignoring  his  remarks. 

"Liot  Borson  mocks  the  very  heart  of  me,"  said 
Bele  to  Matilda  one  day,  as  he  gloomily  flung  himself 
into  the  big  chair  she  pushed  toward  him. 

"What  said  he,  Bele?" 

"  Not  a  word  with  his  tongue,  or  I  had  struck  him 
in  the  face ;  but  as  I  was  telling  about  my  last  cargo 
and  the  run  for  it,  his  eyes  called  me  lLiar!  liar! 
liar!'  like  blow  on  blow.  And  when  he  turned  and 
walked  off  the  pier  some  were  quiet,  and  some  followed 
him ;  and  I  could  have  slain  every  man's  son  of  them, 
one  on  the  heels  of  the  other." 

"  That  is  vain  babble,  Bele ;  and  I  would  leave  Liot 
alone.  He  has  more  shapes  than  one,  and  he  is  ill  to 
anger  in  any  of  them." 


18  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Bele  was  not  averse  to  be  so  counseled.  In  spite 
of  his  bravado  and  risky  ventures,  he  was  no  more  a 
brave  man  than  a  dishonorable  or  dishonest  man  ever 
is.  He  knew  that  if  it  came  to  fighting  he  would  be 
like  a  child  in  Liot's  big  hands,  and  he  had  already 
seen  Liot's  scornful  silence  strip  his  boasting  naked. 
So  he  contented  himself  with  the  revenge  of  the  cow 
ard—the  shrug  and  the  innuendo,  the  straight  up-and- 
down  lie,  when  Liot  was  absent ;  the  sulky  nod  or 
bantering  remark,  according  to  his  humor,  when  Liot 
was  present. 

However,  as  the  weeks  went  on  Liot  became  accus 
tomed  to  the  struggle,  and  more  able  to  take  posses 
sion  of  such  aids  to  mastery  of  himself  as  were  his 
own.  First,  there  was  Karen;  her  loyalty  never 
wavered.  If  Liot  knew  anything  surely,  it  was  that 
at  Christmas  she  would  become  his  wife.  She  met 
him  whenever  she  could,  she  sent  him  constantly 
tokens  of  her  love,  and  she  begged  him  at  every 
opportunity  for  her  sake  to  let  Bele  Trenby  alone. 
Every  day,  also,  his  cousin  Paul  Borson  spoke  to 
him  and  praised  him  for  his  forbearance ;  and  every 
Sabbath  the  minister  asked,  "  How  goes  it,  Liot  ?  Is 
His  grace  yet  sufficient?"  And  at  these  questions 
Liot's  countenance  would  glow  as  he  answered  gladly, 
"  So  far  He  has  helped  me." 

From  this  catechism,  and  the  clasp  and  look  that 
gave  it  living  sympathy,  Liot  always  turned  home 
ward  full  of  such  strength  that  he  longed  to  meet  his 
enemy  on  the  road,  just  that  he  might  show  him  that 
"  noble  not  caring,"  which  was  gall  and  wormwood  to 
Bele's  touchy  self-conceit.  It  was  a  great  spiritual 


THE  WEAVING  OP  DOOM  19 

weakness,  and  one  which  Liot  was  not  likely  to  com 
bat  ;  for  prayer  was  so  vital  a  thing  to  him  that  it  be 
came  imbued  with  all  his  personal  characteristics.  He 
made  petition  that  God  would  keep  him  from  hurting 
Bele  Trenby,  and  yet  in  his  heart  he  was  afraid  that 
God  would  hear  and  grant  his  prayer.  The  pagan  in 
Liot  was  not  dead ;  and  the  same  fight  between  the 
old  man  and  the  new  man  that  made  Paul's  life  a  con 
stant  warfare  found  a  fresh  battle-ground  in  Liot's 
soul. 

He  began  his  devotions  in  the  spirit  of  Christ,  but 
they  ended  always  in  a  passionate  arraignment  of 
Bele  Trenby  through  the  psalms  of  David.  These 
wondrously  human  measures  got  Liot's  heart  in  their 
grip  5  he  wept  them  and  prayed  them  and  lived  them 
until  their  words  blended  with  all  his  thoughts  and 
speech ;  through  them  he  grew  "  familiar "  with  God, 
as  Job  and  David  and  Jonah  were  familiar— a  rever 
ent  familiarity.  Liot  ventured  to  tell  Him  all  that  he 
had  to  suffer  from  Bele— the  lies  that  he  could  not  re 
fute,  the  insolences  he  could  not  return,  his  restricted 
intercourse  with  Karen,  and  the  loss  of  that  frank  fel 
lowship  with  such  of  his  townsmen  as  had  business 
reasons  for  not  quarreling  with  Bele. 

So  matters  went  on,  and  the  feeling  grew  no  better, 
but  worse,  between  the  men.  When  the  devil  could 
not  find  a  man  to  irritate  Bele  and  Liot,  then  he  found 
Matilda  Sabiston  always  ready  to  speak  for  him.  She 
twitted  Bele  with  his  prudences,  and  if  she  met  Liot 
on  the  street  she  complimented  him  on  his  patience, 
and  prophesied  for  Karen  a  "lowly  mannered  hus 
band,  whom  she  could  put  under  her  feet." 


20 

One  day  in  October  affairs  all  round  were  at  their 
utmost  strain.  The  summer  was  over,  and  Bele  was 
not  likely  to  make  the  Shetland  coast  often  till  after 
March.  His  talk  was  of  the  French  and  Dutch  ports 
and  their  many  attractions.  And  Matilda  was  cross 
at  the  prospect  of  losing  her  favorite's  society,  and 
unjustly  inclined  to  blame  Bele  for  his  want  of  success 
with  her  niece. 

"  Talk  if  you  want  to,  Bele,"  she  said  snappishly, 
"  of  the  pretty  women  in  France  and  Holland.  You 
are,  after  all,  a  great  dreamer,  and  you  don't  dream 
true ;  the  fisherman  Liot  can  win  where  you  lose." 

Then  Bele  said*  some  words  about  Liot,  and  Matilda 
laughed.  Bele  thought  the  laugh  full  of  scorn ;  so  he 
got  up  and  left  the  house  in  a  passion,  and  Matilda 
immediately  turned  on  Karen. 

"Ill  luck  came  with  you,  girl,"  she  cried,  "and  I 
wish  that  Christmas  was  here  and  that  you  were  out 
of  my  house." 

"No  need  to  wait  till  Christmas,  aunt;  I  will  go 
away  now  and  never  come  back." 

"I  shall  be  glad  of  that." 

"  Paul  Borson  will  give  me  shelter  until  I  move  into 
my  own  house." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  far  apart.  I  shall  not  be  sorry, 
for  our  chimneys  may  smoke  the  better  for  it." 

"  That  is  an  unkind  thing  to  say." 

"  It  is  as  you  take  it." 

"  I  wonder  what  people  will  think  of  you,  aunt  ? " 

"  I  wonder  that,  too— but  I  care  nothing." 

"  I  see  that  talk  will  come  to  little,  and  that  we  had 
better  part." 


THE  WEAVING  OP  DOOM  21 

"  If  you  will  marry  Bele  we  need  not  part ;  then  I 
will  be  good  to  you." 

"I  will  not  marry  Bele— no,  not  for  the  round 
world." 

"  Then,  what  I  have  to  say  is  this,  and  I  say  it  out : 
go  to  the  Borsons  as  soon  as  you  can ;  there  is  doubt 
less  soul-kin  between  you  and  them,  and  I  want  no 
Borson  near  me,  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body." 

So  that  afternoon  Karen  went  to  live  with  Paul 
Borson,  and  there  was  great  talk  about  it.  No  sooner 
had  Liot  put  his  foot  ashore  than  he  heard  the  story, 
and  at  once  he  set  it  bitterly  down  against  Bele ;  for 
his  sake  Karen  had  been  driven  from  her  home.  There 
were  those  that  said  it  was  Bele's  plan,  since  she  would 
not  marry  him,  to  separate  her  from  her  aunt;  he 
was  at  least  determined  not  to  lose  what  money  and 
property  Matilda  Sabiston  had  to  leave.  These  accusa 
tions  were  not  without  effect.  Liot  believed  his  rival 
capable  of  any  meanness.  But  it  was  not  the  ques 
tion  of  money  that  at  this  hour  angered  him ;  it  was 
Karen's  tears ;  it  was  Karen's  sense  of  shame  in  being 
sent  from  the  home  of  her  only  relative,  and  the  cer 
tain  knowledge  that  the  story  would  be  in  every  one's 
mouth.  These  things  roused  in  Liot's  soul  hatred 
implacable  and  unmerciful  and  thirsty  for  the  stream 
of  life. 

Yet  he  kept  himself  well  in  hand,  saying  little  to 
Karen  but  those  things  usually  whispered  to  beloved 
women  who  are  weeping,  and  at  the  end  of  them  this 
entreaty : 

"  Listen,  dear  heart  of  mine !  I  will  see  the  minis 
ter,  and  he  will  call  our  names  in  the  kirk  next  Sun- 


22  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

day,  and  the  next  day  we  shall  be  married,  and  then 
there  will  be  an  end  to  this  trouble.  I  say  nothing  of 
Matilda  Sabiston,  but  Bele  Trenby  stirs  up  bickerings 
all  day  long ;  he  is  a  low,  quarrelsome  fellow,  a  very 
son  of  Satan,  walking  about  the  world  tempting  good 
men  to  sin." 

And  Karen  answered :  "  Life  is  full  of  waesomeness. 
I  have  always  heard  that  when  the  heart  learns  to 
love  it  learns  to  sorrow ;  yet  for  all  this,  and  more  too, 
I  will  be  your  wife,  Liot,  on  the  day  you  wish,  for  then 
if  sorrow  comes  we  two  together  can  well  bear  it." 


n 


JEALOUSY   CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE 

FTER  this  event  all  Lerwick  knew  that 
Karen  Sabiston  was  to  be  married  to 
Liot  Borson  in  less  than  three  weeks. 
For   the    minister    was    unwilling   to 
shorten  the  usual  time  for  the  kirk  call 
ing,  and  Karen,  on  reflection,  had  also  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  best  not  to  hurry  too  much. 
"Everything  ought  to  bide  its  time,  Liot,"  she  said, 
"  and  the  minister  wishes  the  three  askings  to  be  hon 
ored;  also,  as  the  days  go  by,  my  aunt  may  think 
better  and  do  better  than  she  is  now  minded  to." 
"  If  I  had  my  way,  Karen—" 
"  But  just  now,  Liot,  it  is  my  way." 
"  Yours  and  the  minister's." 
"  Then  it  is  like  to  be  good." 

"  Well,  let  it  stand  at  three  weeks ;  but  I  wish  that 
the  time  had  not  been  put  off;  ill  luck  comes  to  a 
changed  wedding-day." 

"  Why  do  you  f orespeak  misfortune,  Liot  ?  It  is  a 
bad  thing  to  do.  Far  better  if  you  went  to  the  house- 
builder  and  told  him  to  hire  more  help  and  get  the 

23 


24  PRISONERS  OP  CONSCIENCE 

roof -tree  on ;  then  we  need  not  ask  shelter  either  from 
kin  or  kind." 

It  was  a  prudent  thought,  and  Liot  acknowledged 
its  wisdom  and  said  he  would  "there  and  then  go 
about  it."  The  day  was  nearly  spent,  but  the  moon 
was  at  its  full,  and  the  way  across  the  moor  was  as 
well  known  to  him  as  the  space  of  his  own  boat.  He 
kissed  Karen  fondly,  and  promised  to  return  in  two 
or  three  hours  at  the  most ;  and  she  watched  his  tall 
form  swing  into  the  shadows  and  become  part  and  par 
cel  of  the  gray  indistinctness  which  shut  in  the  horizon. 

There  was  really  no  road  to  the  little  hamlet  where 
the  builder  lived.  The  people  used  the  sea  road,  and 
thought  it  good  enough ;  but  the  rising  moon  showed  a 
foot-path,  like  a  pale,  narrow  ribbon,  winding  through 
the  peat-cuttings  and  skirting  the  still,  black  moss 
waters.  But  in  this  locality  Liot  had  cut  many  a 
load  of  peat,  and  he  knew  the  bottomless  streams  of 
the  heath  as  well  as  he  knew  the  "  races  "  of  the  coast ; 
so  he  strode  rapidly  forward  on  his  pleasant  errand. 

The  builder,  who  was  also  a  fisherman,  had  just 
come  from  the  sea ;  and  as  he  ate  his  evening  meal  he 
talked  with  Liot  about  the  new  house,  and  promised 
him  to  get  help  enough  to  finish  it  within  a  month. 
This  business  occupied  about  an  hour,  and  as  soon  as 
it  was  over  Liot  lit  his  pipe  and  took  the  way  home 
ward.  He  had  scarcely  left  the  sea-shore  when  he 
saw  a  man  before  him,  walking  very  slowly  and  irreso 
lutely  ;  and  Liot  said  to  himself,  "  He  steps  like  one 
who  is  not  sure  of  his  way."  "With  the  thought  he 
called  out,  "  Take  care  !  "  and  hastened  forward ;  and 
the  man  stood  still  and  waited  for  him. 


JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE      25 

In  a  few  minutes  Liot  also  wished  to  stand  still; 
for  the  moon  came  from  behind  a  cloud  and  showed 
him  plainly  that  the  wayfarer  was  Bele  Trenby.  The 
recognition  was  mutual,  but  for  once  Bele  was  dis 
posed  to  be  conciliating.  He  was  afraid  to  turn  back 
and  equally  afraid  to  go  forward ;  twice  already  the 
moonlight  had  deceived  him,  and  he  had  nearly 
stepped  into  the  water;  so  he  thought  it  worth  his 
while  to  say : 

"  Good  evening,  Liot ;  I  am  glad  you  came  this  road ; 
it  is  a  bad  one— a  devilish  bad  one !  I  wish  I  had  taken 
a  boat.  I  shall  miss  the  tide,  and  I  was  looking  to  sail 
with  it.  It  is  an  hour  since  I  passed  Skegg's  Point— 
a  full  hour,  for  it  has  been  a  step  at  a  time.  Now  you 
will  let  me  step  after  you ;  I  see  you  know  the  way." 

He  spoke  with  a  nervous  rapidity,  and  Liot  only 
answered : 

"  Step  as  you  wish  to." 

Bele  fell  a  couple  of  feet  behind,  but  continued  to 
talk.  "  I  have  been  round  Skegg's  Point,"  he  said  with 
a  chuckling  laugh.  "  I  wanted  to  see  Auda  Brent  be 
fore  I  went  away  for  the  winter.  Lovely  woman! 
Brent  is  a  lucky  fellow—" 

"  Brent  is  my  friend,"  answered  Liot,  angrily.  But 
Bele  did  not  notice  the  tone,  and  he  continued : 

"I  would  rather  have  Auda  for  a  friend."  And 
then,  in  his  usual  insinuating,  boastful  way,  he  praised 
the  woman's  beauty  and  graciousness  in  words  which 
had  an  indefinable  offense,  and  yet  one  quite  capable 
of  that  laughing  denial  which  commonly  shielded 
Bele's  impertinence.  "Brent  gave  me  a  piece  of 
Saxony  cloth  and  a  gold  brooch  for  her— Brent  is  in 


26  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Amsterdam.  I  have  taken  the  cloth  four  times ; 
there  were  also  other  gifts— but  I  will  say  nothing 
of  them." 

"  You  are  inventing  lies,  Bele  Trenby.  Touch  your 
tongue,  and  your  fingers  will  come  out  of  your  lips 
black  as  the  pit.  Say  to  Brent  what  you  have  said  to 
me.  You  dare  not,  you  infernal  coward ! " 

"  You  have  a  pretty  list  of  bad  words,  Liot,  and  I 
won't  try  to  change  mine  with  them." 

Liot  did  not  answer.  He  turned  and  looked  at  the 
man  behind  him,  and  the  devil  entered  into  his  heart 
and  whispered,  "  There  is  the  venn  before  you."  The 
words  were  audible  to  him  ;  they  set  his  heart  on  fire 
and  made  his  blood  rush  into  his  face,  and  beat  on 
his  ear-drums  like  thunder.  He  could  scarcely  stand. 
A  fierce  joy  ran  through  his  veins,  and  the  fiery  radi 
ations  of  his  life  colored  the  air  around  him ;  he  saw 
everything  red.  The  venn,  a  narrow  morass  with  only 
one  safe  crossing,  was  before  them ;  in  a  few  moments 
they  were  on  its  margin.  Liot  suddenly  stopped ;  the 
leather  strings  of  his  rivlins1  had  come  unfastened, 
and  he  dropped  the  stick  he  carried  in  order  to  retie 
them.  At  this  point  there  was  a  slight  elevation  on 
the  morass,  and  Bele  looked  at  Liot  as  he  put  his  foot 
upon  it,  asking  sharply : 

"  Is  this  the  crossing  ?  " 

Liot  fumbled  at  his  shoe-strings  and  said  not  a 
word ;  for  he  knew  it  was  not  the  crossing. 

"  Is  this  the  crossing,  Liot  ? "  Bele  again  asked.  And 
again  Liot  answered  neither  yes  nor  no.  Then  Bele 
flew  into  a  passion  and  cried  out  with  an  oath : 

1  Shoes  made  of  untanned  cowhide. 


JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE      27 

"  You  are  a  cursed  fellow,  Liot  Borson,  and  in  the 
devil's  own  temper ;  I  will  stay  no  longer  with  you." 

He  stepped  forward  as  he  spoke,  and  instantly  a 
cry,  shrill  with  mortal  terror,  rang  across  the  moor 
from  sea  to  sea.  Liot  quickly  raised  himself,  but 
he  had  barely  time  to  distinguish  the  white  horror  of 
his  enemy's  face  and  the  despair  of  his  upthrown 
arms.  The  next  moment  the  moss  had  swallowed  the 
man,  and  the  thick,  peaty  water  hardly  stirred  over 
his  engulfing. 

For  a  little  while  Liot  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  spot ; 
then  he  lifted  his  stick  and  went  forward,  telling  his 
soul  in  triumphant  undertones :  "  He  has  gone  down 
quick  into  hell ;  the  Lord  has  brought  him  down  into 
the  pit  of  destruction ;  the  bloody  and  deceitful  man 
shall  not  live  out  half  his  days;  he  has  gone  to  his 
own  place." 

Over  and  over  he  reiterated  these  assurances,  step 
ping  securely  himself  to  the  ring  of  their  doom.  It 
was  not  until  he  saw  the  light  in  Paul  Borson's  house 
that  the  chill  of  doubt  and  the  sickness  of  fear  assailed 
him.  How  could  he  smile  into  Karen's  face  or  clasp 
her  to  his  breast  again  ?  A  candle  was  glimmering 
in  the  window  of  a  fisherman's  cottage ;  he  stepped 
into  its  light  and  looked  at  his  hands.  There  was  no 
stain  of  blood  on  them,  but  he  was  angry  at  the  invol 
untary  act ;  he  felt  it  to  be  an  accusation. 

Just  yet  he  could  not  meet  Karen.  He  walked  to 
the  pier,  and  talked  to  his  conscience  as  he  did  so.  "  I 
never  touched  the  man,"  he  urged.  "I  said  nothing 
to  lead  him  wrong.  He  was  full  of  evil ;  his  last  words 
were  such  as  slay  a  woman's  honor.  I  did  right  not  to 


28  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

answer  him,  A  hundred  times  I  have  vowed  I  would 
not  turn  a  finger  to  save  his  life,  and  God  heard  and 
knew  my  vow.  He  delivered  him  into  my  hand ;  he 
let  me  see  the  end  of  the  wicked.  I  am  not  to  blame ! 
I  am  not  to  blame ! "  Then  said  an  interior  voice, 
that  he  had  not  silenced,  "  Go  and  tell  the  sheriff  what 
has  happened." 

Liot  turned  home  at  this  advice.  Why  should  he 
speak  now  ?  Bele  was  dead  and  buried ;  let  his  mem 
ory  perish  with  him.  He  summoned  from  every  nook 
of  his  being  all  the  strength  of  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future,  and  with  a  resolute  hand  lifted  the 
latch  of  the  door.  Karen  threw  down  her  knitting 
and  ran  to  meet  him ;  and  when  he  had  kissed  her 
once  he  felt  that  the  worst  was  over.  Paul  asked  him 
about  the  house,  and  talked  over  his  plans  and  prob 
abilities,  and  after  an  interval  he  said : 

"  I  saw  Bele  Trenby's  ship  was  ready  for  sea  at  the 
noon  hour ;  she  will  be  miles  away  by  this  time.  It 
is  a  good  thing,  for  Mistress  Sabiston  may  now  come 
to  reason." 

"  It  will  make  no  odds  to  us ;  we  shall  not  be  the 
better  for  Bele's  absence." 

"I  think  differently.  He  is  one  of  the  worst  of 
men,  and  he  makes  everything  grow  in  Matilda's  eyes 
as  he  wishes  to.  Lerwick  can  well  spare  him ;  a  bad 
man,  as  every  one  knows." 

"  A  man  that  j  oys  the  devil.  Let  us  not  speak  of  him." 

"  But  he  speaks  of  you." 

"  His  words  will  not  slay  me.  Kinsman,  let  us  go 
to  sleep  now ;  I  am  promised  to  the  fishing  with  the 
early  tide." 


JEALOUSY  CEUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE      29 

But  Liot  could  not  sleep.  In  vain  he  closed  his 
eyes ;  they  saw  more  than  he  could  tell.  There  were 
invisible  feet  in  his  room;  the  air  was  heavy  with 
presence,  and  full  of  vague,  miserable  visions;  for 
"  Wickedness,  condemned  by  her  own  witness,  is  very 
timorous,  and,  being  pressed  with  Conscience,  always 
forecasteth  grievous  things." 

When  Bele  stepped  into  his  grave  there  had  been  a 
bright  moonlight  blending  with  the  green,  opalish  light 
of  the  aurora  charging  to*  the  zenith ;  and  in  this  mys 
terious  mingled  glow  Jjiot  had  seen  for  a  moment 
the  white,  upturned  face  that  the  next  moment  went 
down  with  open  eyes  into  the  bottomless  water.  Now, 
though  the  night  had  become  dark  and  stormy,  he 
could  not  dismiss  the  sight,  and  anon  the  Awful  One 
who  dwelleth  in  the  thick  darkness  drew  near,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  lif e  Liot  Borson  was  afraid.  Then 
it  was  that  his  deep  and  real  religious  life  came  to  his 
help.  He  rose,  and  stood  with  clasped  hands  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and  began  to  plead  his  cause, 
even  as  Job  did  in  the  night  of  his  terror.  In  his 
strong,  simple  speech  he  told  everything  to  God— told 
him  the  wrongs  that  had  been  done  him,  the  provo 
cations  he  had  endured.  His  solemnly  low  implora- 
tions  were  drenched  with  agonizing  tears,  and  they 
only  ceased  when  the  dayspring  came  and  drove  the 
somber  terrors  of  the  night  before  it. 

Then  he  took  his  boat  and  went  off  to  sea,  though 
the  waves  were  black  and  the  wind  whistling  loud  and 
shrill.  He  wanted  the  loneliness  that  only  the  sea 
could  give  him.  He  felt  that  he  must  "cry  aloud" 
for  deliverance  from  the  great  strait  into  which  he 


30  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

had  fallen.  No  man  could  help  him;  no  human  sym 
pathy  come  between  him  and  his  God.  Into  such 
communions  not  even  the  angels  enter. 

At  sundown  he  came  home,  his  boat  loaded  with 
fish,  and  his  soul  quiet  as  the  sea  was  quiet  after  the 
storm  had  spent  itself.  Karen  said  he  "  looked  as  if  he 
had  seen  Death  " ;  and  Paul  answered :  "  No  wonder  at 
that;  a  man  in  an  open  boat  in  such  weather  came 
near  to  him."  Others  spoke  of  his  pallor  and  his 
weariness ;  but  no  one  saw  on  his  face  that  mystical 
self -signature  of  submission  which  comes  only  through 
the  pang  of  soul-travail. 

He  had  scarcely  changed  his  clothing  and  sat  down 
to  his  tea  before  Paul  said :  "  A  strange  thing  has  hap 
pened.  Trenby's  ship  is  still  in  harbor.  He  cannot 
be  found ;  no  one  has  seen  him  since  he  left  the  ship 
yesterday.  He  bade  Matilda  Sabiston  good-by  in  the 
morning,  and  in  the  afternoon  he  told  his  men  to  be 
ready  to  lift  anchor  when  the  tide  turned.  The  tide 
turned,  but  he  came  not ;  and  they  wondered  at  it,  but 
were  not  anxious ;  now,  however,  there  is  a  great  fear 
about  him." 

"  What  fear  is  there  ? "  asked  Liot. 

"  Men  know  not ;  but  it  is  uppermost  in  all  minds 
that  in  some  way  his  life-days  are  ended." 

"  Well,  then,  long  or  short,  it  is  Grod  who  numbers 
our  days." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  matter  ? "  asked  Paul. 

"  As  you  know,  kinsman,"  answered  Liot,  "  I  have 
ever  hated  Bele,  and  that  with  reason.  Often  I  have 
said  it  were  well  if  he  were  hurt,  and  better  if  he  were 
dead;  but  at  this  time  I  will  say  no  word,  good  or 


JEALOUSY  CEUEL  AS  THE  GEAVE      31 

bad.  If  the  man  lives,  I  have  nothing  good  to  say  of 
him ;  if  he  is  dead,  I  have  nothing  bad  to  say." 

"  That  is  wise.  Our  fathers  believed  in  and  feared 
the  fetches  of  dead  men ;  they  thought  them  to  be  not 
far  away  from  the  living,  and  able  to  be  either  good 
friends  or  bitter  enemies  to  them." 

"  I  have  heard  that  often.  No  saying  is  older  than 
'  Bare  is  a  man's  back  without  the  kin  behind  him.' " 

"  Then  you  are  well  clad,  Liot,  for  behind  you  are 
generations  of  brave  and  good  men." 

"The  Lord  is  at  my  right  hand;  I  shall  not  be 
moved,"  said  Liot,  solemnly.  "  He  is  sufficient.  I  am 
as  one  of  the  covenanted,  for  the  promise  is  'to  you 
and  your  children.' " 

Paul  nodded  gravely.  He  was  a  Calvinistic  pagan, 
learned  in  the  Scriptures,  inflexible  in  faith,  yet  by  no 
means  forgetful  of  the  potent  influences  of  his  heroic 
dead.  Truly  he  trusted  in  the  Lord,  but  he  was  never 
unwilling  to  remember  that  Bor  and  Bor's  mighty 
sons  stood  at  his  back.  Even  though  they  were  in 
the  "  valley  of  shadows,"  they  were  near  enough  in  a 
strait  to  divine  his  trouble  and  be  ready  to  help  him. 

The  tenor  of  this  conversation  suited  both  men. 
They  pursued  it  in  a  fitful  manner  and  with  long, 
thoughtful  pauses  until  the  night  was  far  spent ;  then 
they  said,  "  Good  sleep,"  with  a  look  into  each  other's 
eyes  which  held  not  only  promise  of  present  good- will, 
but  a  positive  "looking  forward"  neither  cared  to 
speak  more  definitely  of. 

The  next  day  there  was  an  organized  search  for 
Bele  Trenby  through  the  island  hamlets  and  along 
the  coast ;  but  the  man  was  not  found  far  or  near ;  he 


32  PRISONERS  OP  CONSCIENCE 

had  disappeared  as  absolutely  as  a  stone  dropped  into 
mid-ocean.  Not  until  the  fourth  day  was  there  any 
probable  clue  found ;  then  a  fishing-smack  came  in, 
bringing  a  little  rowboat  usually  tied  to  Howard 
Hallgrim's  rock.  Hallgrim  was  a  very  old  man  and 
had  not  been  out  of  his  house  for  a  week,  so  that  it 
was  only  when  the  boat  was  found  at  sea  that  it  was 
missed  from  its  place.  It  was  then  plain  to  every  one 
that  Bele  had  taken  the  boat  for  some  visit  and  met 
with  an  accident. 

So  far  the  inference  was  correct.  Bele's  own  boat 
being  shipped  ready  for  the  voyage,  he  took  Hallgrim's 
boat  when  he  went  to  see  Auda  Brent ;  but  he  either 
tied  it  carelessly  or  he  did  not  know  the  power  of  the 
tide  at  that  point,  for  when  he  wished  to  return  the 
boat  was  not  there.  For  a  few  minutes  he  hesitated ; 
he  was  well  aware  that  the  foot-path  across  the  moor 
was  a  dangerous  one,  but  he  was  anxious  to  leave 
Lerwick  with  that  tide,  and  he  risked  it. 

These  facts  flashed  across  Liot's  mind  with  the  force 
of  truth,  and  he  never  doubted  them.  All,  then,  hung 
upon  Auda  Brent's  reticence;  if  she  admitted  that 
Bele  had  called  on  her  that  afternoon,  some  one  would 
divine  the  loss  of  the  boat  and  the  subsequent  tragedy. 
For  several  wretched  days  he  waited  to  hear  the  words 
that  would  point  suspicion  to  him.  They  were  not 
spoken.  Auda  came  to  Lerwick,  as  usual,  with  her 
basket  of  eggs  for  sale ;  she  talked  with  Paul  Borson 
about  Bele's  disappearance ;  and  though  Liot  watched 
her  closely,  he  noticed  neither  tremor  nor  hesitation 
in  her  face  or  voice.  He  thought,  indeed,  that  she 
showed  very  little  feeling  of  any  kind  in  the  matter. 


A   LEEWICK  MAX. 


JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE  35 

It  took  him  some  time  to  reach  the  conclusion  that 
Auda  was  playing  a  part— one  she  thought  best  for 
her  honor  and  peace. 

In  the  mean  time  the  preparations  for  his  marriage 
with  Karen  Sabiston  went  rapidly  forward.  He  strove 
to  keep  his  mind  and  heart  in  tune  with  them,  but  it 
was  often  hard  work.  Sometimes  Karen  questioned 
him  concerning  his  obvious  depression ;  sometimes  she 
herself  caught  the  infection  of  his  sadness ;  and  there 
were  little  shadows  upon  their  love  that  she  could  not 
understand.  On  the  day  before  her  marriage  she  went 
to  visit  her  aunt  Matilda  Sabiston.  Matilda  did  not 
deny  herself,  but  afterward  Karen  wished  she  had  done 
so.  Almost  her  first  words  were  of  Bele  Trenby,  for 
whom  she  was  mourning  with  the  love  of  a  mother  for 
an  only  son. 

"What  brings  you  into  my  sight?"  she  asked  the 
girl.  "  Bele  is  dead  and  gone,  and  you  are  living !  and 
Liot  Borson  knows  all  about  it !  " 

"How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing,  aunt?" 

"  I  can  dare  the  truth,  though  the  devil  listened  to 
it.  As  for  '  aunt/  I  am  no  aunt  of  yours." 

"  I  am  content  to  be  denied  by  you ;  and  I  will  see 
that  Liot  makes  you  pay  dearly  for  the  words  that  you 
have  said." 

"  No  fear !  he  will  not  dare  to  challenge  them !  I 
know  that." 

"  You  have  called  him  a  murderer ! " 

"  He  did  the  deed,  or  he  has  knowledge  of  it.  One 
who  never  yet  deceived  me  tells  me  so  much.  Oh,  if 
I  could  only  bring  that  one  into  the  court  I  would 
hang  Liot  higher  than  his  masthead !  I  wish  to  die 


36  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

only  that  I  may  follow  Liot,  and  give  him  misery  on 
misery  every  one  of  his  life-days.  I  would  also  poison 
his  sleep  and  make  his  dreams  torture  him.  If  there 
is  yet  one  kinsman  behind  my  back,  I  will  force  him 
to  dog  Liot  into  the  grave." 

"  Liot  is  in  the  shelter  of  God's  hand ;  he  need  not 
fear  what  you  can  do  to  him.  He  can  prove  you  liar 
far  easier  than  you  can  prove  him  murderer.  On  the 
last  day  of  Bele's  life  Liot  was  at  sea  all  day,  and  there 
were  three  men  with  him.  He  spent  the  evening  with 
John  Twatt  and  myself,  and  then  sat  until  the  mid 
night  with  Paul  Borson." 

"  For  all  that,  he  was  with  Bele  Trenby !  I  know 
it !  My  heart  tells  me  so." 

"Your  heart  has  often  lied  to  you  before  this.  I 
see,  however,  that  our  talk  had  better  come  to  an  end 
once  for  all.  I  will  never  come  here  again." 

"I  shall  be  the  happier  for  that.  Why  did  you 
come  at  this  time  ? " 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  in  trouble  about  Bele.  I 
was  sorry  for  you.  I  wished  to  be  friends  with  every 
one  before  I  married.7' 

"  I  want  no  pity ;  I  want  vengeance ;  and  from  here 
or  there  I  will  compass  it.  While  my  head  is  above 
the  mold  there  is  no  friendship  possible  between  us— 
no,  nor  after  it.  Do  you  think  that  Bele  is  out  of 
your  way  because  he  is  out  of  the  body  ?  He  is  now 
nearer  to  you  than  your  hands  or  feet.  And  let  Liot 
Borson  look  to  himself.  The  old  thrall's  curse  was 
evil  enough,  but  Bele  Trenby  will  make  it  measure 
less." 

"  Such  words  are  like  the  rest  of  your  lying ;  I  will 


JEALOUSY  CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE      37 

not  fear  them,  since  God  is  himself,  and  he  shall  rule 
the  life  Liot  and  I  will  lead  together.  When  a  girl 
is  near  her  bridal  every  one  but  you  will  give  her  a 
blessing.  I  think  you  have  no  heart ;  surely  you  never 
loved  any  one." 

"  I  have  loved— yes ! "  Then  she  stood  up  and  cried 
passionately :  "  Begone  !  I  will  speak  no  more  to  you 
—only  this :  ask  Liot  Borson  what  was  the  ending  of 
Bele  Trenby." 

She  was  the  incarnation  of  rage  and  accusation,  and 
Karen  almost  fled  from  her  presence.  Her  first  im 
pulse  was  to  go  to  Liot  with  the  story  of  the  inter 
view,  but  her  second  was  a  positive  withdrawal  of  it. 
It  was  the  eve  of  her  bridal  day,  and  the  house  was 
already  full  of  strangers.  Paul  Borson  was  spending 
his  money  freely  for  the  wedding-feast.  In  the  morn 
ing  she  was  to  become  Liot's  wife.  How  could  she 
bring  contention  where  there  should  be  only  peace 
and  good- will? 

Besides,  Liot  had  told  her  it  was  useless  to  visit 
Matilda ;  he  had  even  urged  her  not  to  do  so,  for  all 
Lerwick  knew  how  bitterly  she  was  lamenting  the  loss 
of  her  adopted  son  Bele ;  and  Liot  had  said  plainly  to 
Karen :  "  As  for  her  good-will,  there  is  more  hope  of 
the  dead;  let  her  alone."  As  she  remembered  these 
words  a  cold  fear  invaded  Karen's  heart ;  it  turned 
her  sick  even  to  dismiss  it.  What  if  Liot  did  know 
the  ending  of  Bele !  She  recalled  with  a  reluctant 
shiver  his  altered  behavior,  his  long  silences,  his 
gloomy  restlessness,  the  frequent  breath  of  some  icy 
separation  between  them.  If  Matilda  was  right  in  any 
measure— if  Liot  knew !  Merciful  God,  if  Liot  had 


38 

had  any  share  in  the  matter !  She  could  not  face  him 
with  such  a  thought  in  her  heart.  She  ran  down  to 
the  sea-shore,  and  hid  herself  in  a  rocky  shelter,  and 
tried  to  think  the  position  down  to  the  bottom. 

It  was  all  a  chaos  of  miserable  suspicion,  and  at  last 
she  concluded  that  her  fear  and  doubt  came  entirely 
from  Matilda's  wicked  assertions.  She  would  not  ad 
mit  that  they  had  found  in  her  heart  a  condition  ready 
to  receive  them.  She  said :  "  I  will  not  again  think  of 
the  evil  words ;  it  is  a  wrong  to  Liot.  I  will  not  tell 
them  to  him ;  he  would  go  to  Matilda,  and  there  would 
be  more  trouble,  and  the  why  and  the  wherefore  spread 
abroad;  and  God  knows  how  the  wicked  thought 
grows." 

Then  she  stooped  and  bathed  her  eyes  and  face  in 
the  cold  salt  water,  and  afterward  walked  slowly  back 
to  Paul  Borson's.  The  house  was  full  of  company  and 
merry-making,  and  she  was  forced  to  fall  into  the  mood 
expected  from  her.  Women  do  such  things  by  supreme 
efforts  beyond  the  power  of  men.  And  Karen's  smiles 
showed  nothing  of  the  shadow  behind  them,  even  when 
Liot  questioned  her  about  her  visit. 

"  She  is  a  bad  woman,  Liot,"  answered  Karen,  "  and 
she  said  many  temper-trying  words." 

"  That  is  what  I  looked  for,  Karen.  It  is  her  way 
about  all  things  to  scold  and  storm  her  utmost.  Does 
she  trouble  you,  dear  one  ? " 

"  I  will  not  be  word-sick  for  her.  There  is,  as  you 
said,  no  love  lost  between  us,  and  I  shall  not  care  a  rap 
for  her  anger.  Thanks  to  the  Best,  we  can  live  with 
out  her."  And  in  this  great  trust  she  laid  her  hand  in 
Liot's,  and  all  shadows  fled  away. 


JEALOUSY  CEUEL  AS  THE  GKAVE      39 

It  was  then  a  lovely  night,  bright  with  rosy  auroras ; 
but  before  morning  there  was  a  storm.  The  bridal 
march  to  the  kirk  had  to  be  given  up,  and,  hooded  and 
cloaked,  the  company  went  to  the  ceremony  as  they 
best  could.  There  was  no  note  of  music  to  step  to ;  it 
was  hard  enough  to  breast  the  gusty,  rattling  showers, 
and  the  whole  landscape  was  a  little  tragedy  of  wind 
and  rain,  of  black,  tossing  seas  and  black,  driving 
clouds.  Many  who  were  not  at  the  bridal  shook  their 
heads  at  the  storm-drenched  wedding-guests,  and  pre 
dicted  an1  unhappy  marriage ;  and  a  few  ventured  to 
assert  that  Matilda  Sabiston  had  been  seen  going  to  the 
spaewife  Asta.  "And  what  for,"  they  asked,  "but  to 
buy  charms  for  evil  weather  ? " 

All  such  dark  predictions,  however,  appeared  to  be 
negatived  by  actual  facts.  No  man  in  Lerwick  was  so 
happy  as  Liot  Borson.  The  home  he  had  built  Karen 
made  a  marvel  of  neatness  and  even  beauty ;  it  was 
always  spotless  and  tidy,  and  full  of  bits  of  bright  color 
—gay  patchwork  and  crockery,  and  a  snow-white 
hearth  with  its  glow  of  fiery  peat.  Always  she  was 
ready  to  welcome  him  home  with  a  loving  kiss  and 
all  the  material  comforts  his  toil  required.  And  they 
loved  each  other  !  When  that  has  been  said,  what  re 
mains  unsaid  ?  It  covers  the  whole  ground  of  earthly 
happiness. 

How  the  first  shadow  crossed  the  threshold  of  this 
happy  home  neither  Liot  nor  Karen  could  tell ;  it  came 
without  observation.  It  was  in  the  air,  and  entered  as 
subtly  and  as  silently.  Liot  noticed  it  first.  It  began 
with  the  return  of  Brent.  When  he  gave  Bele  the 
piece  of  cloth  and  the  gold  brooch  for  his  wife,  he  was 


40  PRISONEKS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

on  the  point  of  leaving  Amsterdam  for  Java.  Fever 
and  various  other  things  delayed  his  return,  but  in  the 
end  he  came  back  to  Lerwick  and  began  to  talk  about 
Bele.  For  Auda,  reticent  until  her  husband's  return, 
then  told  him  of  Bele's  visit ;  and  one  speculation  grew 
on  the  top  of  another  until  something  like  the  truth 
was  in  all  men's  minds,  even  though  it  was  not  spoken. 
Liot  saw  the  thought  forming  in  eyes  that  looked  at 
him ;  he  felt  it  in  little  reluctances  of  his  mates,  and 
heard  it,  or  thought  he  heard  it,  in  their  voices.  He 
took  home  with  him  the  unhappy  hesitation  or  mis 
giving,  and  watched  to  see  if  it  would  touch  the 
consciousness  of  Karen.  The  loving  wife,  just  ap 
proaching  the  perilous  happiness  of  maternity,  kept 
asking  herself,  "  What  is  it  ?  What  is  it  ? "  And  the 
answer  was  ever  the  same — the  accusing  words  that 
Matilda  Sabiston  had  said,  and  the  quick,  sick  terror 
of  heart  they  had  awakened. 

On  Christmas  day  Karen  had  a  son,  a  child  of 
extraordinary  beauty,  that  brought  his  soul  into  the 
world  with  him.  The  women  said  that  his  eyes  in 
stantly  followed  the  light,  and  that  his  birth-cry  passed 
into  a  smile.  Liot  was  solemnly  and  silently  happy. 
He  sat  for  hours  holding  his  wife's  hand  and  watching 
the  little  lad  sleeping  so  sweetly  after  his  first  hard 
travail ;  for  the  birth  of  this  child  meant  to  Liot  far 
more  than  any  mortal  comprehended.  He  knew  him 
self  to  be  of  religiously  royal  ancestry,  and  the  cove 
nant  of  God  to  such  ran  distinctly,  "  To  you  and  your 
children."  So,  then,  if  God  had  refused  him  children, 
he  would  certainly  have  believed  that  for  his  sin  in  re 
gard  to  Bele  Trenby  the  covenant  between  God  and 


JEALOUSY  CEUEL  AS  THE  GKAVE      41 

the  Borsons  was  broken.  This  fair  babe  was  a  renewal 
of  it.  He  took  him  in  his  arms  with  a  prayer  of  inex 
pressible  thanksgiving.  He  kissed  the  child,  and  called 
him  David  with  the  kiss,  and  said  to  his  soul,  "  The 
Lord  hath  accepted  my  contrition." 

For  some  weeks  this  still  and  perfect  happiness 
continued.  The  days  were  dark  and  stormy,  and  the 
nights  long ;  but  in  Liot's  home  there  was  the  sunlight 
of  a  woman's  face  and  the  music  of  a  baby's  voice. 
The  early  spring  brought  the  first  anxiety,  for  it 
brought  with  it  no  renewal  of  Karen's  health  and 
strength.  She  had  the  look  of  a  leaf  that  is  just  be 
ginning  to  droop  upon  its  stem,  and  Liot  watched  her 
from  day  to  day  with  a  sick  anxiety.  He  made  her  go 
to  sea  with  him,  and  laughed  with  joy  when  the  keen 
winds  brought  back  the  bright  color  to  her  cheeks. 
But  it  was  only  a  momentary  flush,  bought  at  far  too 
great  a  price  of  vitality.  In  a  few  weeks  she  could  not 
pay  the  price,  and  the  heat  of  the  summer  prostrated 
her.  She  had  drooped  in  the  spring ;  in  the  autumn 
she  faded  away.  When  Christmas  came  again  there 
was  no  longer  any  hope  left  in  Liot's  broken  heart ;  he 
knew  she  was  dying.  Night  and  day  he  was  at  her 
side,  there  was  so  much  to  say  to  each  other ;  for  only 
God  knew  how  long  they  were  to  be  parted,  or  in  what 
place  of  his  great  universe  they  should  meet  again. 

At  the  end  of  February  it  had  come  to  this  acknow 
ledgment  between  them.  Sometimes  Liot  sat  with  dry 
eyes,  listening  to  Karen's  sweet  hopes  of  their  reunion ; 
sometimes  he  laid  his  head  upon  her  pillow  and  wept 
such  tears  as  leave  lif e  ever  afterward  dry  at  its  source. 
And  the  root  of  this  bitterness  was  Bele  Trenby.  If 


42  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

it  had  not  been  for  this  man  Liot  could  have  shared 
his  wife's  hopes  and  said  farewell  to  her  with  the 
thought  of  heaven  in  his  heart  j  but  the  very  memory 
of  Bele  sank  him  below  the  tide  of  hope.  God  was 
even  then  "entering  into  judgment  with  him,"  and 
what  if  he  should  not  be  able  to  endure  unto  the  end, 
and  so  win,  though  hardly,  a  painful  acceptance  ?  In 
every  phase  and  form  such  thoughts  haunted  the 
wretched  man  continually.  And  surely  Karen  divined 
it,  for  all  her  sweet  efforts  were  to  nil  his  heart  with 
a  loving  "looking  forward"  to  their  meeting,  and  a 
confident  trust  in  God's  everlasting  mercy. 

One  stormy  night  in  March  she  woke  from  a  deep 
slumber  and  called  Liot.  Her  voice  had  that  penetrat 
ing  intelligence  of  the  dying  which  never  deceives,  and 
Liot  knew  instantly  that  the  hour  for  parting  had  come. 
He  took  her  hands  and  murmured  in  tones  of  anguish, 
"  O  Karen,  Karen !  wife  of  my  soul ! " 

She  drew  him  closer,  and  said  with  the  eagerness  of 
one  in  great  haste,  "  Oh,  my  dear  one,  I  shall  soon  be 
nearer  to  God  than  you.  At  his  feet  I  will  pray.  Tell 
me— tell  me  quick,  what  shall  I  ask  for  you?  Liot, 
dear  one,  tell  me !  " 

"  Ask  that  I  may  be  forgiven  all  my  sins." 

"  Is  there  one  great  sin,  dear  one  ?  Oh,  tell  me  now 
—one  about  Bele  Trenby  ?  Speak  quickly,  Liot.  Did 
you  see  him  die  ? " 

"I  did,  but  I  hurt  him  not." 

"  He  went  into  the  moss  ? " 

"Yes." 

"You  could  have  saved  him  and  did  not?" 

"  If  I  had  spoken  in  time ;  there  was  but  a  single 


JEALOUSY  CEUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE  43 

moment— I  know  not  what  prevented  me.  O  Karen, 
I  have  suffered !  I  have  suffered  a  thousand  deaths ! " 

"  My  dear  one,  I  have  known  it.  Now  we  will  pray 
together— I  in  heaven,  thou  on  earth.  Fear  not,  dear, 
dear  Liot ;  he  spareth  all ;  they  are  his.  The  Lord  is 
the  lover  of  souls." 

These  were  her  last  words.  With  clasped  hands  and 
wide-open  eyes  she  lay  still,  watching  and  listening, 
ready  to  follow  when  beckoned,  and  looking  with  fixed 
vision,  as  if  seeing  things  invisible,  into  the  darkness 
she  was  about  to  penetrate.  Steeped  to  his  lips  in 
anguish,  Liot  stood  motionless  until  a  dying  breath 
fluttered  through  the  room ;  and  he  knew  by  his  sud 
den  sense  of  loss  and  loneliness  that  she  was  gone,  and 
that  for  this  life  he  was  alone  f orevermore. 


m 

A  SENTENCE   FOR  LIFE 

LL  Lerwick  had  been  anticipating  the 
death  of  Karen,  but  when  it  came  there 
was  a  shock.  She  was  so  young  and  so 
well  loved,  besides  which  her  affection 
ate  heart  hid  a  great  spirit;  and  there 


was  a  general  hope  that  for  her  husband's  and  child's 
sake  she  would  hold  on  to  life.  For,  in  spite  of  all 
reasoning,  there  remains  deep  in  the  heart  of  man  a 
sense  of  mastery  over  his  own  destiny— a  conviction 
that  we  do  not  die  until  we  are  willing  to  die.  We 
"  resign  "  our  spirits ;  we  "  commit "  them  to  our  Crea 
tor  ;  we  "  give  up  the  ghost " ;  and  it  did  not  seem  pos 
sible  to  the  wives  and  mothers  of  Lerwick  that  Karen 
would  "  give  up  "  living.  Her  mortality  was  so  finely 
blended  with  her  immortality,  it  was  hard  to  believe 
in  such  early  dissolution.  Alas !  the  finer  the  nature, 
the  more  readily  it  is  fretted  to  decay  by  underlying 
wrong  or  doubt.  When  Matilda  Sabiston  drove  Karen 
down  to  the  sea-shore  on  the  day  before  her  bridal  she 
really  gave  her  the  death-blow. 
For  Karen  needed  more  than  the  bread  and  love  of 
44 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  45 

mortal  life  to  sustain  her.  She  belonged  to  that  high 
order  of  human  beings  who  require  a  sure  approval  of 
conscience  even  for  their  physical  health,  and  whose 
house  of  life,  wanting  this  fine  cement,  easily  falls  to 
dissolution.  Did  she,  then,  doubt  her  husband  ?  Did 
she  believe  Matilda's  accusations  to  be  true  ?  Karen 
asked  herself  these  questions  very  often,  and  always 
answered  them  with  strong  assurances  of  Liot's  inno 
cence  ;  but  nevertheless  they  became  part  of  her  exis 
tence.  No  mental  decisions,  nor  even  actual  words, 
could  drive  them  from  the  citadel  they  had  entered. 
Though  she  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  Liot, 
though  she  watched  herself  continually  lest  any  such 
doubts  should  darken  her  smiles  or  chill  her  love,  yet 
they  insensibly  impregnated  the  house  in  which  they 
dwelt  with  her.  Liot  could  not  say  he  felt  them  here 
or  there,  but  they  were  all-pervading. 

Karen  withered  in  their  presence,  and  Liot's  denser 
soul  would  eventually  have  become  sick  with  the  same 
influence.  It  was,  therefore,  no  calamity  that  spared 
their  love  such  a  tragic  trial,  and  if  Liot  had  been  a 
man  of  clearer  perceptions  he  would  have  understood 
that  it  was  not  in  anger,  but  in  mercy  to  both  of  them, 
that  Karen  had  been  removed  to  paradise.  Her  last 
words,  however,  had  partially  opened  his  spiritual  vi 
sion.  He  saw  what  poison  had  denied  the  springs  of 
her  life,  and  he  knew  instinctively  that  Matilda  Sa- 
biston  was  the  enemy  that  had  done  the  deed. 

It  was,  therefore,  little  wonder  that  he  sent  her  no 
notice  of  her  niece's  death.  And,  indeed,  Matilda 
heard  of  it  first  through  the  bellman  calling  the  funeral 
hour  through  the  town.  The  day  was  of  the  stormiest, 


46  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  many  remembered  how  steadily  storm  and  gust 
had  attended  all  the  great  events  of  Karen's  short  life. 
She  had  been  born  in  the  tempest  which  sent  her 
father  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  she  herself,  in 
coming  from  Yell  to  Lerwick,  had  barely  escaped  ship 
wreck.  Her  bridal  garments  had  been  drenched  with 
rain,  and  on  the  day  set  for  her  baby's  christening 
there  was  one  of  the  worst  of  snow-storms.  Indeed, 
many  said  that  it  was  the  wetting  she  received  on  that 
occasion  which  had  developed  the  "wasting"  that 
killed  her.  The  same  turmoil  of  the  elements  marked 
her  burial  day.  A  cold  northeast  wind  drove  through 
the  wet  streets,  and  the  dreary  monotony  of  the  out 
side  world  was  unspeakable. 

But  Matilda  Sabiston  looked  through  her  dim  win 
dows  without  any  sense  of  the  weather's  depressing 
influence— the  storm  of  anger  in  her  heart  was  so 
much  more  imperative.  She  waited  impatiently  for 
the  hour  appointed  for  the  funeral,  and  then  threw  over 
her  head  and  shoulders  a  large  hood  and  cloak  of  blue 
flannel.  She  did  not  realize  that  the  wind  blew  them 
backward,  that  her  gray  hairs  were  dripping  and  dis 
arranged,  and  her  clothing  storm-draggled  and  unsuit 
able  for  the  occasion ;  her  one  thought  was  to  reach 
Liot's  house  about  the  time  when  the  funeral  guests 
were  all  assembled.  She  lifted  the  latch  and  entered 
the  crowded  room  like  a  bad  fate.  Every  one  ceased 
whispering  and  looked  at  her. 

She  stepped  swiftly  to  the  side  of  the  coffin,  which 
was  resting  on  two  chairs  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
Liot  leaned  on  the  one  at  the  head ;  the  minister  stood 
by  the  one  at  the  foot,  and  he  was  just  opening  the 


A  SENTENCE  FOR  LIFE  47 

book  in  his  hands.  He  looked  steadily  at  Matilda,  and 
there  was  a  warning  in  the  look,  which  the  angry 
woman  totally  disdained.  Liot  never  lifted  his  eyes ; 
they  were  fixed  on  Karen's  dead  face ;  but  his  hands 
held  mechanically  a  Bible,  open  at  its  proper  place. 
But  though  he  did  not  see  Matilda,  he  knew  when  she 
entered ;  he  felt  the  horror  of  her  approach,  and  when 
she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  he  shook  it  violently  off 
and  forced  himself  to  look  into  her  evilly  gleaming  eyes. 

She  laughed  outright.  "  So  the  curse  begins,"  she 
said,  "  and  this  is  but  the  first  of  it." 

"  This  is  no  hour  to  talk  of  curses,  Mistress  Sabis- 
ton,"  said  the  minister,  sternly.  "  If  you  cannot  bring 
pity  and  pardon  to  the  dead,  then  fear  to  come  into 
their  presence." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the  dead.  It  is  Liot 
Borson  who  is  '  followed/  not  me ;  I  did  not  murder 
Bele  Trenby." 

"Now,  then,"  answered  the  minister,  "it  is  time 
there  was  a  stop  put  to  this  talk.  Speak  here,  before 
the  living  and  the  dead,  the  evil  words  you  have  said 
in  the  ears  of  so  many.  What  have  you  to  say  against 
Liot  Borson  ? " 

"  Look  at  him !  "  she  cried.  "  He  dares  to  hold  in 
his  hands  the  Holy  Word,  and  I  vow  those  hands  of 
his  are  red  with  the  blood  of  the  man  he  murdered— I 
mean  of  Bele  Trenby." 

Liot  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  until  she  ceased  speak 
ing;  then  he  turned  them  on  the  minister  and  said, 
"  Speak  for  me." 

"  Speak  for  thyself  once  and  for  all,  Liot.  Speak 
here  before  God  and  thy  dead  wife  and  thy  mates  and 


48  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

thy  townsmen.  Did  thy  hands  slay  Bele  Trenby? 
Are  they  indeed  red  with  his  blood  ? " 

"  I  never  lifted  one  finger  against  Bele  Trenby.  My 
hands  are  clear  and  clean  from  all  blood-guiltiness." 
And  he  dropped  the  "Word  upon  Karen's  breast,  and 
held  up  his  hands  in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  men. 

"  You  lie !  "  screamed  Matilda. 

"  God  is  my  judge,  not  you,"  answered  Liot. 

"  It  is  the  word  of  Liot  Borson.  Who  believes  it  ? " 
asked  the  minister.  "  Let  those  who  do  so  take  the 
hands  he  declares  guiltless  of  blood."  And  the  minis 
ter  clasped  Liot's  hands  as  he  spoke  the  words,  and 
then  stepped  aside  to  allow  others  to  follow  him.  And 
there  was  not  one  man  or  woman  present  who  did  not 
thus  openly  testify  to  their  belief  in  Liot's  innocence. 
Matilda  mocked  them  as  they  did  so  with  output 
tongue  and  scornful  laughs;  but  no  one  interfered 
until  the  minister  said : 

"  Mistress  Sabiston,  you  must  now  hold  your  peace 
forever." 

"I  will  not.     I  will— " 

"  It  is  your  word  against  Liot's,  and  your  word  is 
not  believed." 

Then  the  angry  woman  fell  into  a  great  rage,  and 
railed  on  every  one  so  passionately  that  for  a  few 
moments  she  carried  all  before  her.  Some  of  the  com 
pany  stood  up  round  the  coffin,  as  if  to  defend  the 
dead ;  and  the  minister  looked  at  Grimm  and  Twatt, 
two  big  fishermen,  and  said,  "  Mistress  Sabiston  is  be 
side  herself ;  take  her  civilly  to  her  home."  And  they 
drew  her  arms  within  their  own,  and  so  led  her  storm 
ing  out  into  the  storm. 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  49 

Liot  had  the  better  of  his  enemy,  but  he  felt  no  sense 
of  victory.  He  did  not  even  see  the  manner  of  her 
noisy  exit,  for  he  stood  in  angry  despair,  looking  down 
at  the  calm  face  of  his  dead  wife.  Then  the  door  shut 
out  the  turmoil,  and  the  solemn  voice  of  the  minister 
called  peace  into  the  disquieted,  woeful  room.  Liot 
was  insensible  to  the  change.  His  whole  soul  was  in 
surgent  ;  he  was  ready  to  accuse  heaven  and  earth  of 
unutterable  cruelty  to  him.  Strong  as  his  physical 
nature  was,  at  this  hour  it  was  almost  impotent.  His 
feet  felt  too  heavy  to  move ;  he  saw,  and  he  saw  not ; 
and  the  words  that  were  spoken  were  only  a  chaos  of 
sounds. 

Andrew  Vedder  and  Hal  Skager  took  his  right  arm 
and  his  left,  and  led  him  to  his  place  in  the  funeral 
procession.  It  was  only  a  small  one.  Those  not 
closely  connected  with  the  Borsons  went  to  their 
homes  after  the  service  ;  for,  besides  the  storm,  the 
hour  was  late  and  the  night  closing  in.  It  seemed  as 
if  nature  showed  her  antagonism  to  poor  Karen  even 
to  the  last  scene  of  her  mortal  drama;  for  the  tide 
flowed  late,  and  a  Shetlander  can  only  be  buried  with 
the  flowing  tide.  The  failing  light,  however,  was  but 
a  part  of  the  great  tragedy  of  Liot's  soul ;  it  seemed 
the  proper  environment. 

He  bared  his  head  as  he  took  his  place,  and  when 
urged  to  put  on  his  hat  flung  it  from  him.  The  storm 
beat  on  Karen's  coffin;  why  not  on  his  head  also? 
People  looked  at  him  pitifully  as  he  passed,  and  an  old 
woman,  as  she  came  out  of  her  cottage  to  cast  the 
customary  three  clods  of  earth  behind  the  coffin,  called 
out  as  she  did  so,  "  The  comforts  of  the  Father,  Son, 


60  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  Holy  Ghost  be  with  you,  Liot."  It  was  Margaret 
Borson,  and  she  was  a  century  old.  She  tottered  into 
the  storm,  and  a  little  child  handed  her  the  turf  clods, 
which  she  cast  with  the  prayer.  It  came  from  kindred 
lips,  and  so  entered  Liot's  ears.  He  lifted  his  eyes  a 
moment,  looked  at  the  eldrich,  shadowy  woman  trem 
bling  in  the  gray  light,  and  bowing  his  head  said  softly, 
"  Thank  you,  mother." 

There  was  not  a  word  spoken  at  the  open  grave. 
Liot  stood  in  a  breathing  stupor  until  all  was  over,  and 
then  got  back  somehow  to  his  desolate  home.  Paul 
Borson's  wife  had  taken  the  child  away  with  her,  and 
other  women  had  tidied  the  room  and  left  a  pot  of  tea 
on  the  hob  and  a  little  bread  and  meat  on  the  table. 
He  was  alone  at  last.  He  slipped  the  wooden  bolt 
across  the  door,  and  then  sat  down  to  think  and  to 
suffer. 

But  the  mercy  of  God  found  him  out,  and  he  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep;  and  in  that  sleep  he  dreamed  a 
dream,  and  was  a  little  comforted.  "  I  have  sinned," 
he  said  when  he  awoke ;  "  but  I  am  His  child,  and  I 
cannot  slip  beyond  His  mercy.  My  life  shall  be  atone 
ment,  and  I  will  not  fear  to  fall  into  His  hands." 

And,  thank  God,  no  grief  lasts  forever.  As  the  days 
and  weeks  wore  away  Liot's  sorrow  for  his  wife  grew 
more  reasonable ;  then  the  spring  came  and  the  fishing 
was  to  attend  to ;  and  anon  little  David  began  to  in 
terest  his  heart  and  make  him  plan  for  the  future.  He 
resolved  to  save  money  and  send  the  lad  to  St.  Andrew's, 
and  give  him  to  the  service  of  the  Lord.  All  that  he 
longed  for  David  should  have ;  all  that  he  had  failed 
to  accomplish  David  should  do.  He  would  give  his 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  61 

own  life  freely  if  by  this  sacrifice  he  could  make 
David's  life  worthy  to  be  an  offering  at  His  altar. 

The  dream,  though  it  never  came  true,  comforted  and 
strengthened  him ;  it  was  something  to  live  for.  He 
was  sure  that,  wherever  in  God's  universe  Karen  now 
dwelt,  she  would  be  glad  of  such  a  destiny  for  her  boy. 
He  worked  cheerfully  night  and  day  for  his  purpose, 
and  the  work  in  itself  rewarded  him.  The  little  home 
in  which  he  had  been  so  happy  and  so  miserable  was 
sold,  and  the  money  put  in  the  bank  for  "David's 
education."  All  Liot's  life  now  turned  upon  this  one 
object,  and,  happily,  it  was  sufficient  to  restore  to  him 
that  hope— that  something  to  look  forward  to— which 
is  the  salt  of  life. 

Matilda  gave  him  no  further  trouble.  She  sent  him 
a  bill  for  Karen's  board,  and  he  paid  it  without  a  word ; 
and  this  was  the  last  stone  she  could  throw ;  besides 
which,  she  found  herself  compelled  by  public  opinion 
to  make  some  atonement  for  her  outrageous  behavior, 
since  in  those  days  it  would  have  been  as  easy  to  live 
in  St.  Petersburg  and  quarrel  with  the  czar  as  to  live 
in  Shetland  and  not  have  the  minister's  approval.  So 
Mistress  Sabiston  had  a  special  interview  with  the 
Rev.  Magnus  Ridlon,  and  she  also  sent  a  sum  of  money 
to  the  kirk  as  a  "  mortification,"  and  eventually  was 
restored  to  all  sacred  privileges,  except  the  great  one 
of  the  holy  table.  This  depended  inexorably  on  her 
public  exoneration  of  Liot  and  her  cultivation  of  good 
will  toward  him.  She  utterly  refused  Liot,  and  pre 
ferred  to  want  the  sacred  bread  and  wine  rather  than 
eat  and  drink  them  with  Liot  Borson.  And  though 
Liot  declared  his  willingness  to  forgive  Matilda  fully, 


52  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

in  his  heart  he  was  not  sorry  to  be  spared  the  spiritual 
obligation. 

So  the  seasons  wore  away,  and  summer  and  win 
ter  brought  work  and  rest,  until  David  was  nearly  six 
years  old.  By  this  time  the  women  of  Lerwick  thought 
Liot  should  look  for  another  wife.  "  There  is  Halla 
Odd,"  said  Jean  Borson ;  "  she  is  a  widow  of  thine  own 
age  and  she  is  full-handed.  It  is  proper  for  thee  now 
to  make  a  home  for  thyself  and  David.  When  a  wife 
has  been  dead  four  years  there  has  been  mourning 
enough." 

Impatient  of  such  talk  at  first,  Liot  finally  took  it 
into  some  consideration ;  but  it  always  ended  in  one 
way :  he  cast  his  eyes  to  that  lonely  croft  where  Karen 
slept,  and  remembered  words  she  had  once  spoken : 

"  In  a  little  while  I  shall  go  away,  Liot,  and  people 
will  say, '  She  is  in  her  grave ' ;  "but  I  shall  not  be  there" 

That  was  exactly  Liot's  feeling— Karen  was  not 
there.  She  had  loved  God  and  believed  in  heaven,  and 
he  was  sure  that  she  had  gone  to  heaven.  And  from 
every  spot  on  the  open  sea  or  the  streeted  town  or  the 
solitary  moors  he  had  only  to  look  up  to  the  place 
where  his  beloved  dwelt.  He  did,  however,  as  Jean 
Borson  desired:  he  thought  about  Halla  Odd;  he 
watched  her  ways,  and  speculated  about  her  money 
and  her  house  skill  and  the  likelihood  of  her  making 
a  good  stepmother  to  David. 

Probably,  if  events  had  taken  their  usual  course,  he 
would  have  married  Halla ;  but  at  the  beginning  of  the 
summer  this  thing  happened :  a  fine  private  yacht  was 
brought  into  harbor  with  her  sails  torn  to  rags  and 
her  mainmast  injured.  Coming  down  from  the  north, 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  53 

she  had  been  followed  and  caught  by  a  storm,  and 
was  in  considerable  distress  when  she  was  found  by 
some  Lerwick  fisher-smacks.  Then,  as  Liot  Borson 
was  the  best  sailmaker  in  the  town,  he  was  hired  to 
put  the  yacht's  canvas  in  good  condition  j  and  while 
doing  so  the  captain  of  the  yacht,  who  was  also  her 
owner,  talked  often  with  him  about  the  different 
countries  he  had  visited.  He  showed  him  paintings 
of  famous  places  and  many  illustrated  volumes  of 
travel,  and  so  fired  Liot's  heart  that  his  imagination, 
like  a  bird,  flew  off  in  all  directions. 

In  a  short  time  the  damaged  wayfarer,  with  all  her 
new  sails  set,  went  southward,  and  people  generally 
forgot  her  visit.  But  Liot  was  no  more  the  same  man 
after  it.  He  lived  between  the  leaves  of  a  splendid 
book  of  voyages  which  had  been  left  with  him.  Halla 
went  out  of  his  thoughts  and  plans,  and  all  his  desires 
were  set  to  one  distinct  purpose— to  see  the  world, 
and  the  whole  world.  David  was  the  one  obstacle. 
He  did  not  wish  to  leave  him  in  Shetland,  for  his  in 
tention  was  to  bid  farewell  forever  to  the  island.  It 
had  suddenly  become  a  prison  to  him ;  he  longed  to 
escape  from  it.  So,  then,  David  must  be  taken  away 
or  the  boy  would  draw  him  back ;  but  the  question  was, 
where  should  he  carry  the  child  ? 

He  thought  instantly  of  his  sister,  who  was  married 
to  a  man  in  comfortable  circumstances  living  at  Stor- 
noway,  in  the  Outer  Hebrides,  and  he  resolved  to  take 
David  to  her.  He  could  now  afford  to  pay  well  for 
his  board  and  schooling,  and  he  was  such  a  firm  be 
liever  in  the  tie  of  blood-kinship  that  the  possibility 
of  the  child  not  being  kindly  treated  never  entered 


54  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

his  mind-  And  as  he  was  thinking  over  the  matter  a 
man  came  from  Stornoway  to  the  Shetland  fishing, 
and  spoke  well  of  his  sister  Lizzie  and  her  husband. 
He  said  also  that  their  only  child  was  in  the  Green 
land  whaling-fleet,  and  that  David  would  be  a  godsend 
of  love  to  their  solitary  hearts. 

This  report  satisfied  Liot,  and  the  rest  was  easily 
managed.  Paul  Borson  urged  him  to  stay  until  the 
summer  fishing  was  over ;  but  Liot  was  possessed  by 
the  sole  idea  of  getting  away,  and  he  would  listen  to 
nothing  that  interfered  with  this  determination.  He 
owned  half  the  boat  in  which  he  fished,  and  as  it  was 
just  at  the  beginning  of  the  season  he  was  obliged  to 
buy  the  other  half  at  an  exorbitant  price.  But  the 
usually  prudent  man  would  make  no  delays ;  he  paid 
the  price  asked,  and  then  quickly  prepared  the  boat 
for  the  voyage  he  contemplated. 

One  night  after  David  was  asleep  he  carried  him 
on  board  of  her ;  and  Paul  divined  his  purpose,  though 
it  was  unspoken.  He  walked  with  him  to  the  boat, 
and  they  smoked  their  last  pipe  together  in  the  moon 
light  on  her  deck,  and  were  both  very  silent.  Paul  had 
told  himself  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  his  cousin, 
yet  when  it  came  to  the  last  hour  they  found  themselves 
unable  to  talk.  At  midnight  both  men  stood  up. 

"  The  tide  serves,"  said  Liot,  softly,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

And  Paul  clasped  it  and  answered :  "  God  be  with 
thee,  Liot." 

"  "We  shall  meet  no  more  in  this  lif  e,  Paul." 

"  Then  I  tryst  thee  for  the  next  life ;  that  will  be  a 
good  meeting.  Fare  thee  well.  God  keep  thee ! " 


A  SENTENCE  FOR  LIFE  67 

"  And  thee  also." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  well  kept,  both  of  us." 

That  was  the  last  of  Shetland  for  Liot  Borson.  He 
watched  his  kinsman  out  of  sight,  and  then  lifted  his 
anchor,  and  in  the  silence  and  moonlight  went  out  to 
sea.  When  the  Lerwick  people  awoke  in  the  morning 
Liot  was  miles  and  miles  away.  He  was  soon  for 
gotten.  It  was  understood  that  he  would  never  come 
back,  and  there  was  no  more  interest  in  him  than  there 
is  in  the  dead.  Like  them,  he  had  had  his  time  of  so 
journ,  and  his  place  knew  him  no  more. 

As  for  Liot,  he  was  happy.  He  set  his  sails,  and 
covered  David  more  warmly,  and  then  lay  down  under 
the  midnight  stars.  The  wind  was  at  his  back,  and 
the  lonely  land  of  his  birth  passed  from  his  eyes  as  a 
dream  passes.  In  the  morning  the  islands  were  not 
to  be  seen ;  they  were  hidden  by  belts  of  phantom  foam, 
wreathed  and  vexed  with  spray  and  spindrift.  There 
was,  fortunately,  no  wrath  in  the  morning  tide,  only 
a  steady,  irresistible  set  to  the  westward ;  and  this  was 
just  what  Liot  desired.  For  many  days  these  favorable 
circumstances  continued,  and  Liot  and  David  were 
very  happy  together ;  but  as  they  neared  the  vexed  seas 
which  lash  Cape  Wrath  and  pour  down  into  the  North 
Minch,  Liot  had  enough  to  do  to  keep  his  boat  afloat. 

He  was  driven  against  his  will  and  way  almost  to 
the  Butt  of  Lewis ;  and  as  his  meal  and  water  were 
very  low,  he  looked  for  death  in  more  ways  than  one. 
Then  the  north  wind  came,  and  he  hoped  to  reach  the 
broad  Bay  of  Stornoway  with  it ;  but  it  was  soon  so 
strong  and  savage  that  nothing  could  be  done  but 
make  all  snug  as  possible  for  the  gale  and  then  run 

4* 


58  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

before  it.  It  proved  to  be  worse  than  Liot  anticipated, 
and,  hungry  and  thirsty  and  utterly  worn  out,  the 
helpless  boat  and  her  two  dying  occupants  were  picked 
up  by  some  Celtic  coasters  from  Uig,  and  taken  to  the 
little  hamlet  to  which  they  were  going. 

There  Liot  stayed  all  summer,  fishing  with  the  men 
of  the  place ;  but  he  was  not  happy,  for,  though  they 
were  Calvinists  as  to  faith,  they  were  very  different 
from  the  fair,  generous,  romantic  men  of  his  own 
islands.  For  the  fishers  of  Uig  were  heavy-faced  Celts, 
with  the  impatient  look  of  men  selfish  and  greedy  of 
gain.  They  made  Liot  pay  well  for  such  privileges  as 
they  gave  him  ;  and  he  looked  forward  to  the  close  of 
the  fishing  season,  for  then  he  was  determined  to  go 
to  Stornoway  and  get  David  a  more  comfortable  and 
civilized  home,  after  which  he  would  sell  his  boat  and 
nets.  And  then  ?  Then  he  would  take  the  first  pas 
sage  he  could  get  to  Glasgow,  for  at  Glasgow  there 
were  ships  bound  for  every  port  in  the  world. 

It  was  on  the  5th  of  September  that  he  again  set 
sail  for  Stornoway,  and  on  the  llth  he  was  once  more 
brought  back  to  Uig.  A  great  storm  had  stripped 
him  of  everything  he  possessed  but  his  disabled  boat. 
David  was  in  a  helpless,  senseless  condition,  and  Liot 
had  a  broken  arm,  and  fainted  from  suffering  and 
exhaustion  while  he  was  being  carried  on  shore.  In 
some  way  he  lost  his  purse,  and  it  contained  all  his 
money.  He  looked  at  the  sea  and  he  looked  at  the 
men,  and  he  knew  not  which  had  it.  So  there  was 
nothing  possible  for  another  winter  but  poverty  and 
hard  toil,  and  perchance  a  little  hope,  now  and  then, 
of  a  better  voyage  in  the  spring. 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  59 

With  endless  labor  and  patience  lie  prepared  for 
this  third  attempt,  and  one  lovely  day  in  early  June 
set  sail  for  the  Butt  of  Lewis.  He  had  good  weather 
and  fair  winds  for  two  days ;  then  the  norther  came 
and  drove  him  round  Vatternish,  and  into  the  danger 
ous  whirlpools  and  vexed  waterways  of  that  locality. 
His  boat  began  to  leak,  and  he  was  forced  to  abandon 
her,  and  for  thirty  hours  to  thole  the  blustering  winds 
and  waves  that  tossed  the  little  cockle-shell,  in  which 
they  took  a  last  refuge,  like  a  straw  upon  the  billows. 
Again  the  men  of  Uig  brought  them  to  shore;  and 
this  time  they  were  sulky,  and  expressed  no  sympathy 
for  Liot's  disappointment,  loss,  and  suffering.  They 
had  become  superstitious  about  him,  and  they  specu 
lated  and  wondered  at  the  ill  luck  that  always  drove 
him  back  to  Skye.  Roy  Hunish,  a  very  old  man,  spoke 
for  the  rest  when  he  said,  "  It  seems  to  me,  Liot  Bor- 
son,  that  the  Lord  has  not  sent  you  to  Stornoway ;  he 
is  against  the  journey."  And  Liot  answered  sadly: 
"  He  is  against  all  I  desire." 

When  they  had  been  warmed  and  fed  and  rested  in 
one  of  the  nearest  cottages,  Liot  took  David  in  his 
arms  and  went  back  to  his  old  hut.  He  put  the  sleep 
ing  child  in  the  bunk,  and  then  sat  down  on  the  cold, 
dark  hearthstone.  What  Hunish  expressed  so  plainly 
was  the  underlying  thought  in  his  own  heart.  He 
could  not  escape  from  a  conclusion  so  tragically  mani 
fested.  In  sorrow  too  great  for  tears,  he  compelled 
himself  to  resign  all  his  hopes  and  dreams— a  renun 
ciation  as  bitter  as  wormwood,  but  not  as  cruelly  bitter 
as  the  one  it  included ;  for  his  rejection  was  also  the 
rejection  of  his  son.  God  had  not  forgiven  him,  nor 


60  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

had  lie  accepted  David's  dedication  to  his  service,  for 
he  had  stripped  him  of  all  means  to  accomplish  it. 
He  might  have  permitted  him  to  reach  Stornoway  and 
leave  the  boy  among  his  kindred ;  he  had  chosen  rather 
to  include  David  in  the  sin  of  his  father.  This  was 
the  thought  that  wounded  his  heart  like  a  sword.  He 
went  to  the  sleeping  boy  and  kissed  his  face,  weeping 
most  of  all  for  the  sorrow  he  had  brought  on  the  in 
nocent  one. 

If  this  earth  be  a  penal  world,  Liot  that  night  went 
down  to  one  of  its  lowest  hells.  Sorrow  of  many  kinds 
brutally  assailed  him.  He  hid  nothing  from  his  con 
sciousness.  He  compelled  himself  to  see  over  again 
the  drowning  of  Bele— that  irreparable  wrong  which 
had  ruined  all  his  happiness ;  he  compelled  himself  to 
stand  once  more  by  Karen's  coffin,  and  listen  to  his 
own  voice  calling  God  to  witness  his  innoc'ence;  he 
compelled  himself  to  admit  that  he  had  thought  God 
had  forgotten  his  sin  of  seven  years  ago.  And  when 
these  things  had  been  thought  out  to  the  end,  his  heart 
was  so  full  that  he  quite  unconsciously  gave  utterance 
to  his  thoughts  in  audible  speech.  The  tones  of  his 
voice  in  the  darkness  were  like  those  of  a  man  pray 
ing,  and  the  hopeless  words  filled  the  sorrowful  room 
with  a  sense  of  suffering : 

"So,  then,  it  is  for  a  life-sentence  that  I  am  sent 
here.  There  is  to  be  no  pardon  till  I  have  dreed  out 
the  years  appointed  me  in  the  gust  and  poverty  of  this 
dreadful  place,  among  its  hard,  unfriendly  men.  My 
God !  I  am  but  thirty-three  years  old.  How  long  wilt 
thou  be  angry  with  me?  And  the  little  lad!  Pass 
me  by,  but  oh,  be  merciful  to  him  ! " 


A  SENTENCE  FOE  LIFE  61 

A  great  silence  followed  this  imploration.  The  man 
was  waiting.  For  hours  he  sat  motionless ;  but  just 
before  dawn  he  must  have  heard  a  word  of  strength 
or  comfort,  for  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  bowed  his  head. 
He  was  weeping  bitterly,  and  his  voice  was  like  a  sob ; 
but  from  that  hut  on  the  wild  Skye  coast  there  arose 
with  a  heartbroken  cry  the  sublimest  of  mortal  prayers 
— "  Thy  mil  ~be  done." 


rv 

THE    DOOR    WIDE    OPEN 

DESIGNATION  is  not  always  content 
ment,  and  though  Liot  accepted  God's 
will  in  place  of  his  own  will,  he  took  it 
rather  with  a  dour  patience  than  with  a 
cheerful  satisfaction.  Yet  in  a  certain 
way  life  gets  made  independent  of  our  efforts.  A 
higher  power  than  our  own  brings  events  about,  finds 
a  way  across  the  hills  of  difficulty,  smooths  out  the 
rough  places,  and  makes  straight  what  our  folly  has 
made  crooked.  When  it  became  certain  that  Liot 
would  make  his  life-home  near  Uig  the  men  on  that 
coast  began  to  treat  him  with  more  friendliness,  and 
the  women  pitied  and  cared  a  little  for  his  motherless 
boy.  And  by  and  by  there  came  a  new  minister,  who 
found  in  Liot  a  man  after  his  own  heart.  The  two 
men  became  familiars,  and  the  friendship  made  life 
more  supportable  to  both. 

It  was  a  hard  existence,  however,  for  the  child. 
Liot  loved  his  son,  but  he  was  not  a  demonstrative 
father,  and  he  thought  more  of  doing  his  duty  to  David 
than  of  showing  him  affection  or  providing  him  with 

62 


THE  DOOE  WIDE  OPEN  63 

pleasure.  For  when  all  hopes  of  making  hi™  a  min 
ister  were  over  David  lost  something  in  Liot's  esti 
mation.  He  was,  then,  just  a  common  lad,  in  whose 
heart,  as  a  matter  of  course,  folly  and  disobedience 
were  bound  up.  It  was  his  place  to  exorcise  every 
thing  like  joy,  and  with  the  phantoms  of  a  gloomy 
creed  to  darken  and  terrify  his  childhood. 

Before  David  had  shed  his  baby  teeth,  hell  and  the 
devil  were  tremendous  realities  to  him.  An  immacu 
late,  pitiless  God,  who  delighted  in  taking  vengeance 
on  his  enemies,  haunted  all  his  boyhood's  dreams ;  and 
the  "  scheme  of  salvation/'  by  which  perchance  this 
implacable  Deity  might  be  conciliated,  was  the  begin 
ning  and  the  end  of  his  education.  With  an  amaz 
ing  distinctness  in  question  and  answer,  this  "  scheme  " 
was  laid  before  him,  and  by  the  word  and  the  rod  of 
admonition  he  was  made  familiar  with  the  letter  of 
its  awful  law. 

Here,  then,  was  a  child  whom  a  sad  destiny  had  led 
far  away  from  happiness.  His  nature  was  singularly 
affectionate,  yet  he  had  no  memory  of  a  mother's  kiss, 
or,  indeed,  of  any  tender  human  kindness.  No  one 
petted  or  loved  him ;  no  one  heeded  his  childish  sor 
rows  and  sufferings.  He  had  toothaches  and  earaches, 
about  which  he  felt  it  useless  to  speak.  He  went  into 
the  boats  with  his  father  as  soon  as  he  could  bait  a 
line,  and  was  forced  to  endure  all  that  men  endured 
from  salt-water  boils,  chilblains,  frost-bites,  and  the 
lashing  of  spray-laden  winds.  Cold  and  hunger,  heat 
and  thirst,  and  the  frequent  intolerable  sleepiness  of 
overtaxed  strength  made  up  the  sad  drama  of  his 
childhood ;  and  he  played  his  part  in  it  with  a  patient 


64  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

submission  that  sometimes  won  from  his  father  as 
tonishment  and  a  few  words  of  praise  or  admiration. 

Such  words  made  glorious  epochs  in  the  boy's  life ; 
he  could  remember  every  one  of  them.  Once,  when 
Liot  could  get  no  one  to  launch  a  boat  and  go  with 
him  to  the  help  of  four  men  drowning  before  their 
eyes,  the  ten-year-old  lad  came  radiantly  forward  and 
said,  "  Take  me,  father ;  I  will  go  with  you."  And  the 
two  went  on  the  desperate  errand  together,  and  brought 
back  safely  the  men  ready  to  perish.  Then,  when  all 
was  well  over  and  the  child  stood  trembling  with  ex 
haustion,  Liot  drew  him  close  to  his  side,  and  pushed 
his  wet  hair  from  his  brow,  and  said  with  proud  ten 
derness,  "  You  are  a  good,  brave  boy.  God  bless  you, 
David ! "  And  the  happy  upward  look  of  the  child 
had  his  mother's  smile  in  it,  and  before  Liot  knew 
what  he  was  doing  he  had  stooped  and  kissed  him. 
The  event  was  a  wonderful  one,  and  it  made  a  tie  be 
tween  the  father  and  the  son  that  it  was  beyond  the 
power  of  time  to  loosen. 

Liot's  own  boyhood  had  been  filled  with  the  dreams 
and  stories  of  the  elder  world.  He  had  been  conscious 
all  his  life  of  this  influence  streaming  up  from  the 
centuries  behind  him,  and  coloring,  and  even  moving, 
his  present  existence.  The  fierce  hatred  he  felt  for 
Bele  Trenby  came  from  unchristened  ancestors,  and 
the  dumb  murder,  which  had  darkened  his  life  and 
sent  him  to  Uig,  from  the  same  source.  He  told  David 
none  of  these  stirring  sagas.  He  was  resolved  that 
the  knowledge  of  the  thrall's  curse  should  not  call  sor 
row  to  him.  He  never  named  the  heroic  Gisli  in  his 
hearing.  And  once,  when  he  found  an  old  fisherman 


THE  DOCK  WIDE  OPEN  65 

reciting  "  Ossian  "  to  David,  he  fell  into  such  anger  as 
terrified  every  one.  Indeed,  he  said  words  at  that 
hour  which  would  have  made  much  trouble  and  ill- 
will  if  the  minister  had  not  justified  them  and  called 
Liot's  anger  a  "  righteous  one." 

And  in  those  days  there  was  absolutely  no  literature 
for  the  people.  Books  were  dear  and  scarce ;  ten  years 
might  pass  without  a  new  one  drifting  into  a  hamlet ; 
and  newspapers  were  few  and  for  the  rich  alone. 
David,  then,  had  but  one  book— the  Holy  Scriptures. 
He  read  them,  and  read  them  again,  and  found  every 
thing  in  them.  Fortunately,  the  wonderful  wisdom 
and  stories  of  the  Apocrypha  had  not  then  been  dis 
carded;  the  book  had  its  place  between  the  Old  and 
the  New  Testament.  And  David  was  wise  with  Solo 
mon,  and  saw  beautiful  visions  with  Esdras,  and  lived 
and  glowed  and  fought  with  the  heroic  Maccabees. 

And  we  who  have  far  more  books  than  we  can  read 
can  hardly  understand  how  David  loved  the  Bible.  It 
was  his  poetry,  his  philosophy,  his  history;  it  was, 
above  all,  the  speech  of  God  to  man.  Through  it  he 
breathed  the  air  of  the  old,  old  East,  and  grew  up 
under  the  shadows  of  Judea's  palms  and  olives;  so 
that  the  rainy  gloom  of  the  coast  of  Skye  was  but 
an  accident  of  his  existence.  Abraham  and  Joseph, 
Moses  and  Joshua,  were  far  more  real  personages  to 
David  Borson  than  the  Duke  of  Wellington  or  Napo 
leon  and  his  twelve  marshals.  Through  the  stormy 
days  when  it  was  impossible  to  go  to  sea,  and  in  the 
long  winter  nights,  when  he  stretched  himself  before 
the  red  peats  with  a  little  oil-cruse,  he  and  the  Bible 
were  friends  and  companions.  It  kept  him  in  direct 


66  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

relation  with  God  and  heaven ;  it  fed  him  on  faith ;  it 
made  him  subject  to  duty ;  it  gave  him  a  character  at 
once  courageous  and  gentle,  calm  and  ideal— such  a 
character  as  is  very  rare  in  our  days,  and  which,  where 
it  does  exist,  will  not  be  transmitted. 

So  that,  with  all  his  hard  work  and  many  depriva 
tions,  David  had  his  happy  hours.  And  the  years 
went  by,  and  he  grew  up  to  a  fair  and  stately  man 
hood,  not  rebelling  against  his  fate,  but  taking  it  as  a 
part  of  the  inscrutable  mystery  of  life  and  death  con 
stantly  before  his  eyes.  Others  around  him  suffered 
in  like  manner,  and  at  the  end  one  thing  happened  to 
all.  No ;  it  was  not  the  tyranny  of  nature  nor  of  his 
material  life  that  troubled  David  as  he  approached 
manhood ;  it  was  the  spiritual  tyranny  under  which 
he  lived  and  prayed  which  darkened  his  days  and  filled 
his  nights  with  thoughts  which  he  dared  not  follow  to 
their  proper  conclusion  and  was  equally  afraid  to  dis 
miss. 

This  was  his  dilemma.  He  had  been  taught  by  a 
father  whom  he  trusted  implicitly  that  life  was  only 
a  short  and  precarious  opportunity  for  working  out 
his  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling ;  peradventure 
he  might  be  counted  among  the  remnant  whom  God 
would  elect  to  save  from  eternal  miseiy.  And  in  a 
measure  the  constant  east  winds  and  cloudy  heavens, 
the  cold  and  stormy  seas,  and  the  gloom  and  poverty 
of  all  his  surroundings  were  so  many  confirmations 
of  this  unhappy  conviction.  Yet  it  was  very  hard  for 
him  to  believe  that  the  God  of  the  Bible,  "  like  a  father 
pitying  his  children,"  was  the  God  of  his  Shorter  and 
Longer  Catechisms.  As  his  twentieth  year  approached 


THE  DOOE  WIDE  OPEN  67 

these  doubts  and  questions  would  not  be  put  away, 
and  yet  he  dared  not  speak  of  them  either  to  the  min 
ister  or  to  his  father. 

Then,  one  night,  as  he  was  watching  his  lines  and 
hooks,  something  happened  which  broke  the  adaman 
tine  seal  upon  his  soul.  He  was  quite  alone  in  his 
boat,  and  she  was  drifting  slowly  under  the  full  moon ; 
there  was  not  a  sound  upon  the  ocean  but  the  wash  of 
the  water  against  her  sides.  He  was  sitting  motion 
less,  thinking  of  the  sadness  and  weariness  of  life,  and 
wishing  that  God  would  love  him,  though  ever  so  lit 
tle,  and,  above  all,  that  he  would  give  him  some  word 
or  sign  of  his  care  for  him.  His  hands  were  clasped 
upon  his  knees,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  far  horizon ;  be 
tween  him  and  the  God  whom  he  so  ignorantly  feared 
and  desired  there  was  apparently  infinite  space  and 
infinite  silence. 

All  at  once  some  one  seemed  to  come  into  the  boat 
beside  him.  An  ineffable  peace  and  tenderness,  a 
sweetness  not  to  be  described,  encompassed  the  lonely 
youth.  He  was  sensible  of  a  glory  he  could  not  see ; 
he  was  comforted  by  words  that  were  inaudible  to  his 
natural  ears.  During  this  transitory  experience  he 
scarcely  breathed,  but  as  it  slowly  passed  away  he  rose 
reverently  to  his  feet.  "  An  angel  has  been  with  me," 
he  thought. 

After  this  event  the  whole  fabric  of  his  creed  van 
ished  at  times  before  the  inexplicable  revelation.  Yet 
the  terrible  power  of  early  impressions  is  not  easily 
eradicated,  even  by  the  supernatural ;  and  whenever 
he  reasoned  about  the  circumstance  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  might  have  been  a  snare  and  a  de- 


68  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

lusion  of  the  Evil  One.  For  why  should  an  angel  be 
sent  with  a  word  to  him?  or  why  should  he  dare  to 
hope  that  his  longing  after  God's  love  had  touched 
the  heart  of  the  Eternal  ?  Yet,  though  the  glory  was 
dissolved  by  the  doubting,  nothing  could  quite  rob 
him  of  his  blessing ;  in  the  midst  of  the  sternest  real 
ities  of  his  rough  daily  toil  he  found  himself  musing 
on  those  wonderful  days  when  angels  went  and  came 
among  men  as  they  threshed  their  wheat  or  worked  at 
their  handicrafts,  when  prayer  was  visibly  answered 
and  the  fire  dropped  from  heaven  on  the  accepted 
sacrifice. 

He  thought  the  more  on  this  subject  because  his 
father  was  visibly  dying  from  some  internal  disease, 
which  was  dissolving  with  rapid,  inexorable  suffering 
the  house  of  clay  in  which  the  soul  of  Liot  Borson 
dwelt.  Liot  was  aware  of  it,  and  had  borne  with 
silent  courage  the  enemy's  advances  toward  the  citadel 
of  life.  Very  reluctantly  he  had  given  up  his  duties 
one  by  one,  until  the  day  came  when  nothing  remained 
for  him  to  do  but  to  wait  and  to  suffer ;  then  he  spoke 
plainly  to  David.  It  happened  to  be  the  lad's  twenty- 
sixth  birthday,  and  Liot  had  his  own  memories  of  the 
first  one.  Almost  inadvertently  the  name  of  Karen 
passed  his  lips,  and  then  he  talked  long  of  her  good 
ness,  her  love,  and  her  beauty;  and  David  listened 
with  an  interest  that  tempted  more  confidence  than 
Liot  had  ever  thought  to  give. 

"  If  you  had  such  a  wife  as  Karen  Sabiston  was  to 
me,"  he  said,  "  then,  David,  you  would  be  happy  even 
in  this  place.  But  you  will  not  stay  here.  When  I 
am  gone  away  to  the  land  very  far  off,  then  you  will 


THE  DOOE  WIDE  OPEN  69 

go  back  to  Shetland— to  your  own  land  and  your  own 
people." 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish,  father." 

"  You  will  marry ;  that  is  to  be  looked  for.  I  have 
seen  that  girl  of  Talisker's  watching  you,  and  luring 
you  with  her  sly  smiles  and  glances.  Give  her  no 
notice.  I  like  not  these  Celtic  women,  with  their 
round  black  eyes  and  their  red  color  and  black  hair. 
In  Shetland  you  will  see  women  that  you  may  safely 
love— good  and  beautiful  girls  of  your  own  race ;  there 
must  be  no  strange  women  among  the  Borsons.  Your 
Bible  tells  you  what  sorrow  comes  from  marrying 
daughters  of  Heth  and  their  like.  Go  to  Shetland  for 
your  wife." 

"  I  will,  father." 

"  You  will  find  friends  and  kindred  there— my  good 
cousin  Paul,  and  his  sons  and  daughters,  and  your 
mother's  family  in  Yell,  and  Matilda  Sabiston.  I 
would  say  something  of  her,  but  she  is  doubtless  in 
the  grave  by  this  time,  and  gone  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Merciful." 

"Was  she  of  our  kindred,  then?" 

"  Of  your  mother's  kin.  They  were  ill  friends  here, 
but  yonder  all  may— all  will  be  different." 

During  this  conversation  Liot  made  his  son  under 
stand  that  the  messenger  of  release  might  come  at  any 
hour ;  but  in  the  morning  he  felt  so  free  from  pain 
that  David  thought  he  could  safely  go  to  the  early 
fishing.  When  he  reached  the  pier,  however,  the  boat 
had  sailed  without  him,  and  he  walked  into  Uig  and 
told  the  minister  how  near  the  end  it  was.  And  the 
minister  answered : 


70  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  We  have  had  our  farewell,  David.  We  shall  meet 
no  more  till  we  meet  in  the  city  of  God."  He  spoke 
with  a  subdued  enthusiasm,  and  his  grave  face  was 
luminous  with  an  interior  transfiguration.  Suddenly 
the  sun  came  from  behind  a  cloud,  and  the  flying 
shower  was  crowned  with  a  glorious  rainbow.  He 
drew  David  to  the  window,  and  said  in  a  rapture  of 
adoration : 

"  The  token  of  His  covenant !  It  compasseth  the 
heavens  about  with  a  glorious  circle,  and  the  hands  of 
the  Most  High  have  bended  it  Could  any  words  be 
more  vitally  realistic,  David  ?  Tell  your  father  what 
you  have  seen— the  token  of  His  covenant!  The 
token  of  His  covenant ! " 

And  David  went  away,  awed  and  silent ;  for  there 
was  in  the  minister's  eyes  that  singular  brilliance 
which  presages  a  vision  of  things  invisible.  They 
looked  straight  into  the  sunshine.  Did  they  see  be 
yond  it  to  where  the  "innumerable  company  of  angels  " 
were  singing,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy  "  ? 

Indeed,  he  was  so  much  impressed  that  he  took  the 
longest  way  home.  He  wanted  to  think  over  what 
his  father  and  the  minister  had  said,  and  he  wanted 
that  solitude  of  nature  which  had  so  often  been  to  him 
the  voice  of  God.  The  road  itself  was  only  a  foot 
path  across  a  melancholy  moor,  covered  with  heather 
and  boulders,  and  encompassed  by  cyclopean  wrecks 
of  mountains,  the  vapory  outlines  of  which  suggested 
nothing  but  endless  ruin.  Although  the  season  was 
midsummer,  there  had  been  sharp,  surly  whiffs  of 
rain  all  day  long,  and  the  dreary  levels  were  full  of 
little  lochs  of  black  moss  water.  So  David  kept  to 


THE  DOOE  WIDE  OPEN  71 

the  seaward  side,  where  the  land  was  higher,  and  where 
he  could  see  the  roll  of  a  spent  gale  swinging  round 
Vatternish  toward  the  red,  rent  bastions  of  Skye,  and 
hear  its  thunder  amid  the  purple  caves  of  the  basalt 
and  the  whitened  tiers  of  the  oolite,  silencing  all  meaner 
sounds. 

After  a  trailing,  thoughtful  walk  of  a  mile,  he  came 
to  a  spot  where  a  circle  of  druidical  monoliths  stood 
huge  and  pale  in  the  misty  air.  He  went  straight  into 
the  haunted  place  with  the  manner  of  one  familiar  with 
it,  cast  his  nets  on  the  low  central  stone  which  had  once 
been  the  sacrificial  altar  of  the  dead  creed,  and  then 
leaned  wearily  against  one  of  the  sheltering  pillars. 

His  person  was  at  this  time  remarkably  handsome 
and  in  wonderful  harmony  with  its  surroundings. 
He  was  large  and  strong— a  man  not  made  for  the 
narrow  doorways  of  the  town,  but  for  the  wide,  stormy 
spaces  of  the  unstreeted  ocean.  The  sea  was  in  his 
eyes,  which  were  blue  and  outlooking  j  his  broad  breast 
was  bared  to  the  wind  and  rain ;  his  legs  were  planted 
apart,  as  if  he  was  hauling  up  an  anchor  or  standing 
on  a  reeling  deck.  An  air  of  somber  gravity,  a  face 
sad  and  mystical,  distinguished  his  solitary  figure. 
He  was  the  unconscious  incarnation  of  the  lonely  land 
and  the  stormy  sea. 

Leaning  against  the  pagan  pillar,  he  revolved  in  his 
mind  those  great  questions  that  survive  every  change 
of  race  and  dynasty :  Whence  come  we  ?  Where  go 
we  ?  How  can  a  man  be  justified  with  God  ?  Though 
the  rain  smote  him  east  and  west,  he  was  in  the  sun 
shine  of  the  Holy  Land;  he  was  drawing  nets  with 
Simon  Peter  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee ;  he  was  listening 


72  PRISONERS  OP  CONSCIENCE 

to  Him  who  spake  as  never  man  spake.  Suddenly  the 
sharp  whistle  of  a  passing  steamer  roused  him.  He 
turned  his  eyes  seaward,  and  saw  the  Polly  Ann  hasten 
ing  to  the  railway  port  with  her  load  of  fish  for  the 
Glasgow  market.  The  sight  set  him  again  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  Then  he  felt  the  rain,  and  he 
drew  his  bonnet  over  his  brows,  and  lifted  his  nets, 
and  began  to  walk  toward  the  little  black  hut  on  the 
horizon.  It  was  of  large  stones  roughly  mortared 
together,  and  it  had  a  low  chimney,  and  a  door  fastened 
with  a  leather  strap;  but  the  small  window  wanted 
the  screen  of  white  muslin  usual  in  Highland  cots, 
and  was  dim  with  dust  and  cobwebs. 

It  was  David's  home,  and  he  knew  his  father  waited 
there  for  his  coming ;  so  he  hastened  his  steps ;  but 
the  radiant,  dreamy  look  which  had  made  him  hand 
some  was  gone,  and  he  approached  the  door  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  is  weary  of  to-day  and  without  hope 
for  the  morrow.  At  the  threshold  he  threw  off  this 
aspect,  and  entered  with  a  smile.  His  father,  sitting 
wearily  in  a  wooden  arm-chair,  turned  his  face  to 
meet  him.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  walking  with 
death.  Human  agony  grimly  borne  without  com 
plaint  furrowed  it ;  gray  as  ashes  were  the  cheeks,  and 
the  eyes  alone  retained  the  "  spark  of  heavenly  flame'' 
which  we  call  life. 

"  There  has  been  a  change,  David,"  he  said,  "  and  it 
is  well  you  are  come ;  for  I  know  I  must  soon  be  going, 
and  there  is  this  and  that  to  say— as  there  always  is 
at  the  parting." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  worse,  father.  Let  me  go  for 
the  doctor  now*" 


THE  DOOR  WIDE  OPEN  73 

"  I  will  have  no  man  meddle  with  the  hour  of  my 
death ;  no  one  shall  either  hurry  or  delay  it." 

"  The  doctor  might  give  you  some  ease  from  your 
sore  pain." 

"  I  will  bear  His  will  to  the  uttermost.  But  come 
near  to  me,  David ;  I  have  some  last  words  to  say,  and 
there  is  One  at  my  side  hasting  me  forward." 

"  Tell  me  your  wish  now,  father.  I  will  do  all  that 
you  desire." 

"  When  you  have  put  me  in  my  grave,  go  to  Shet 
land  for  me.  I  thought  to  do  my  own  errand— to  get 
there  just  in  time  to  do  it,  and  die;  but  it  is  hard 
counting  with  Death— he  comes  sooner  than  you  ex 
pect.  David,  I  have  brought  you  up  in  the  way  of  life. 
Think  no  wrong  of  me  when  I  am  gone  away  forever. 
Indeed,  you  '11  not  dare  to,"  he  said  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  natural  pride  in  himself;  "for  though  I  may 
have  had  a  sore  downfall,  I  could  not  get  away  from 
His  love  and  favor." 

"  None  living  shall  say  wrong  of  you  in  my  hearing, 
father." 

"But,  David,  there  are  those  of  the  unregenerate 
who  would  make  much  of  my  little  slip.  I  might  die, 
lad,  and  say  nothing  to  any  man  about  it.  Put  a  few 
peats  on  the  fire ;  death  is  cold,  and  my  feet  are  in  the 
grave  already ;  so  I  may  tell  the  truth  now,  for  at  this 
hour  no  man  can  make  me  afraid.  And  there  is  no 
sin,  I  hope,  in  letting  Matilda  Sabiston  know,  if  she  is 
still  alive,  that  I  owe  Bele  Trenby  nothing  for  the 
wrong  he  did  me.  St.  Paul  left  the  Almighty  to  pay 
the  ill-will  he  owed  Alexander  the  coppersmith ;  but  I 
could  not  ask  that  much  favor,  being  only  Liot  Borson ; 


74  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  no  doubt  the  Lord  suffered  me  to  pay  my  own 
debt— time  and  place  being  put  so  unexpected  into  my 
hand." 

Then  he  was  awfully  silent.  The  mortal  agony  was 
dealing  its  last  sharp  blows,  and  every  instinct  im 
pelled  him  to  cry  out  against  the  torment.  But  Liot 
Borson  had  put  his  mortality  beneath  his  feet ;  noth 
ing  could  have  forced  a  cry  from  him.  His  face 
changed  as  a  green  leaf  might  change  if  a  hot  iron  was 
passed  over  it ;  but  he  sat  grasping  the  rude  arms  of 
his  wooden  chair,  disdaining  the  torture  while  it  lasted, 
and  smiling  triumphantly  as  it  partly  passed  away. 

"  A  few  more  such  pangs  and  the  fight  will  be  over, 
David.  So  I  will  swither  and  scruple  no  longer;  I 
will  tell  the  whole  truth  about  the  drowning  of  Bele 
Trenby.  Bele  and  I  were  never  friends ;  but  I  hated 
him  when  he  began  to  meddle  between  me  and  Karen 
Sabiston.  He  had  no  shadow  of  right  to  do  so,  for  I 
had  set  my  heart  on  her  and  she  had  given  me  her 
promise ;  and  I  said  then,  and  I  say  it  now  with  death 
at  my  elbow,  that  he  had  no  right  to  step  between  me 
and  Karen.  Yet  he  tried  to  do  that  thing,  and  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  minister  I  had  stabbed  him  to  his 
false  heart.  But  the  minister  bade  me  do  no  wrong, 
because  I  was  of  the  household  of  faith,  and  a  born 
and  baptized  child  of  God,  having  come— mind  this, 
David—  of  generations  of  his  saints.  He  said  if  Bele 
had  done  me  wrong,  wrong  would  come  to  Bele,  and 
I  would  live  to  see  it." 

" '  Vengeance  is  Mine ;  I  will  repay/  "  quoted  David, 
in  a  low  voice.  But  Liot  answered  sharply : 

"  The  Lord  sends  by  whom  he  will  send.     And  it  so 


THE  DOOR  WIDE  OPEN  75 

happened  that  one  night,  as  Bele  and  I  were  walking 
together,  I  knew  the  hour  had  come." 

"  You  took  not  the  matter  in  your  own  hands  surely, 
father?" 

"  There  was  none  there  but  me.  I  laid  no  finger  on 
him ;  he  fell  into  his  own  snare.  I  had  said  a  thousand 
times— and  the  Lord  had  heard  me  say  it— that  if  one 
word  of  mine  would  save  Bele  Trenby  from  death,  I 
would  not  say  that  one  word.  Could  I  break  my  oath 
for  a  child  of  the  Evil  One  ?  Had  Bele  been  of  the 
elect  I  would  have  borne  that  in  mind ;  but  Bele  came 
of  bad  stock;  pirates  and  smugglers  were  his  fore 
bears,  and  the  women  not  to  name  with  the  God-fear 
ing—  light  and  vain  women.  So  I  hated  Bele,  and  I 
had  a  right  to  hate  him ;  and  one  night,  as  I  walked 
from  Quarf  to  Lerwick,  Bele  came  to  my  side  and  said, 
'Good  evening,  Liot.'  And  I  said,  'It  is  dark,7  and 
spoke  no  more.  And  by  and  by  we  came  to  a  stream 
swollen  with  rain  and  snow-water,  and  Bele  said, '  Here 
is  the  crossing.'  And  I  answered  him  not,  for  I  knew 
it  was  not  the  crossing.  So  as  I  delayed  a  little — for 
my  shoe-string  was  loose — Bele  said  again,  'Here  is 
the  crossing.'  And  I  told  him  neither  yes  nor  no. 
And  he  said  to  me,  'It  seemeth,  Liot,  thou  art  in  a 
devil's  temper,  and  I  will  stay  no  longer  with  thee.' 
And  with  the  ill  words  on  his  lips  he  strode  into  the 
stream,  and  then  overhead  into  the  moss  he  went,  and 
so  to  his  own  place." 

"  Father,  I  am  feared  for  a  thing  like  that.  There 
would  be  sin  in  it." 

"  I  lifted  no  finger  against  him ;  my  lips  lied  not. 
It  was  the  working  out  of  his  own  sin  that  slew  him." 


76  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  I  would  have  warned  him— yes,  I  would.  Let  me 
go  for  the  minister ;  he  will  not  be  feared  to  say, '  Liot, 
you  did  wrong/  if  so  he  thinks." 

"  I  have  had  my  plea  out  with  my  Maker.  If  I  did 
sin,  I  have  paid  the  price  of  the  sin.  Your  mother 
was  given  to  me,  and  in  two  years  the  Lord  took  her 
away.  I  thought  to  fill  nay  eyes  with  a  sight  of  the 
whole  world,  and  I  was  sent  to  this  desolate  place  for 
a  life-sentence,  to  bide  its  storm  and  gloom  and  gust 
and  poverty,  and  in  this  bit  cabin  to  dree  a  long,  fierce 
wrestle  with  Death,  knowing  all  the  time  he  would 
get  the  mastery  over  me  in  the  end."  Then,  suddenly 
pausing,  his  gray  face  glowed  with  passionate  rapture, 
and  lifting  up  his  right  hand  he  cried  out:  "No,  no, 
David  ;  I  am  the  conqueror !  There  are  two  ways  of 
dying,  my  lad— victory  and  defeat.  Thank  God,  I  have 
the  victory  through  Jesus  Christ,  my  Lord  and  Sav 
iour  ! " 

"  Who  is  the  propitiation  for  all  sin,  father." 

"  Sin !  "  cried  the  dying  man,  "  sin !  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  sin.  i  Who  shall  lay  anything  to  the  charge 
of  God's  elect  ? '  for,  '  Whosoever  is  born  of  God  doth 
not  commit  sin— he  cannot  sin,  for  he  is  born  of  God.' 
I  did  indeed  make  a  sore  stumble ;  so  also  did  David, 
and  natheless  he  was  a  man  after  God's  own  heart. 
What  has  man  to  do  with  my  fault  ?  He  has  entered 
into  judgment  with  me,  and  I  have  gladly  borne  the 
hand  of  the  smiter." 

"Gladly,  father?" 

"Ay,  David,  gladly.  For  had  I  not  been  Ms  son, 
he  would  have  'let  me  alone/  as  he  does  those  joined 
to 'their  idols;  but  because  he  loved  me  he  chastised 


THE  DOOR  WIDE  OPEN  77 

ine ;  and  I  have  found  that  his  rod  as  well  as  his  staff 
can  comfort  in  affliction.  Some  of  his  bairns  deserve 
and  get  the  rod  of  iron.  Be  good,  David,  and  he 
will  stretch  out  to  you  only  his  golden  scepter." 

"  And  also  you  have  the  Intercessor." 

"  If  I  had  not  I  would  plead  my  own  cause,  as  Job 
did.  I  would  rise  up  and  answer  him  like  a  man,  for 
he  is  a  just  God.  Mercy  may  have  times  and  seasons, 
but  justice  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever. 
'  Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right  ? ' " 

"  Would  you  say  that,  father,  if  justice  sent  you  to 
the  place  of  torment  ? " 

"  Ay,  would  I !  *  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I 
trust  in  him.'  But  I  am  not  fearing  the  place  of  tor 
ment,  David.  And  as  for  this  world,  it  is  at  my  feet 
like  a  cast-off  shoe,  and  all  its  gold  and  gear  is  as  the 
wrack  of  the  sea.  But  you  will  find  a  few  sovereigns 
in  my  chest,  and  a  letter  for  your  cousin  Paul  Bor- 
son;  and  the  ship  and  the  house  you  may  do  your 
will  with." 

"  It  is  your  will  in  all  things  that  I  care  to  do,  father. 
And  now,  if  you  would  but  let  me  away  for  the  min 
ister,  maybe  you  could  say  a  word  to  him  you  are  not 
caring  to  say  to  me— a  word  of  sorrow  or  remorse—" 

"  Remorse !  remorse  !  No,  no,  David !  Remorse 
is  for  feeble  souls ;  remorse  is  the  virtue  of  hell ;  re 
morse  would  sin  again  if  it  could.  I  have  repented, 
David,  and  repentance  ends  all.  See  to  your  Larger 
Catechism,  David— Question  76." 

Throughout  this  conversation  speech  had  been  be 
coming  more  and  more  painful  to  him.  The  last  words 
were  uttered  in  gasps  of  unconquerable  agony,  and  a 


78  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

mortal  spasm  gave  a  terrible  emphasis  to  this  spiritual 
conviction.  When  it  had  passed  he  whispered  faintly, 
"The  pains  of  hell  get  hold  on  me— on  my  body, 
David;  they  cannot  touch  my  soul.  Lay  me  down 
now— at  His  feet— I  can  sit  in  my  chair  no  longer." 

So  David  laid  him  in  his  bunk.  "  Shall  I  say  the 
words  now— the  words  you  marked,  father  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Ay ;  the  hour  has  come." 

Then  David  knelt  down  and  put  his  young,  fresh 
face  very  close  to  the  face  of  the  dying  man,  and  said 
solemnly  and  clearly  in  his  very  ear  the  chosen  words 
of  trust : 

"  When  the  waves  of  death  compassed  me ; 

"When  the  sorrows  of  hell  compassed  me  about,  and  the 
snares  of  death  prevented  me, 

"  In  my  distress  I  called  upon  the  Lord,  and  cried  to  my  God : 
and  he  did  hear  my  voice  out  of  his  temple,  and  my  cry  did 
enter  into  his  ears." 

"  The  sorrows  of  death  compassed  me,  and  the  pains  of  hell 
gat  hold  upon  me  :  I  found  trouble  and  sorrow. 

"  Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord ;  O  Lord,  I  beseech 
thee,  deliver  my  soul.  .  .  . 

"Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul;  for  the  Lord  hath  dealt 
bountifully  with  thee. 

"  For  thou  hast  delivered  my  soul  from  death,  mine  eyes  from 
tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling.  .  .  . 

"Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  his  saints." 

Here  David  ceased.  It  was  evident  that  the  mighty 
words  were  no  longer  necessary.  A  smile,  such  as  is 
never  seen  on  mortal  face  until  the  light  of  eternity 
falls  upon  it,  illumined  the  gaunt,  stern  features,  and 
the  outlooking  eyes  flashed  a  moment  in  its  radiance. 


THE  DOOE  WIDE  OPEN  79 

A  solemn  calm,  a  certain  pomp  of  conscious  grandeur 
in  his  victory  over  death  and  the  grave,  encompassed 
the  dying  man,  and  gave  to  the  prone  figure  a  majestic 
significance.  As  far  as  this  world  was  concerned,  Liot 
Borson  was  a  dead  man.  For  two  days  he  lingered  on 
life's  outermost  shoal,  but  at  sunrise  the  third  morning 
he  went  silently  away.  It  was  full  tide ;  the  waves 
broke  softly  on  the  shingle,  and  the  sea-birds  on  the 
lonely  rocks  were  crying  for  their  meat  from  God. 
Suddenly  the  sunshine  filled  the  cabin,  and  David  was 
aware  of  something  more  than  the  morning  breeze 
coming  through  the  wide-open  door.  A  sense  of  lofty 
presence  filled  the  place.  "  It  is  the  flitting,"  he  said 
with  a  great  awe ;  and  he  stood  up  with  bowed  head 
until  a  f  eeling  of  indescribable  loneliness  testified  that 
the  soul  which  had  hitherto  dwelt  with  him  was  gone 
away  forever. 

He  went  then  to  the  body.  Death  had  given  it  dig 
nity  and  grandeur.  It  was  evident  that  in  Liot's  case 
the  great  change  had  meant  victory  and  not  defeat. 
Almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  David  kissed  his 
father.  Then  he  went  into  Uig  and  told  the  minister, 
and  said  simply  to  his  mates,  "My  father  is  dead.'' 
And  they  answered : 

"  It  is  a  happy  change  for  him,  David.  Is  it  to-mor 
row  afternoon  you  would  like  us  to  come  ? " 

And  David  said :  "  Yes ;  at  three  o'clock  the  minister 
will  be  there." 

He  declined  all  companionship ;  he  could  wake  alone 
with  the  dead.  For  the  most  part  he  sat  on  the  door 
step  and  watched  the  rising  and  setting  of  the  con 
stellations,  or  walked  to  and  fro  before  the  open  door, 


80  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

ever  awfully  aware  of  that  outstretched  form,  the  house 
of  clay  in  which  his  father  and  companion  had  dwelt 
so  many  years  at  his  side.  Sometimes  he  slept  a  little 
with  his  head  against  the  post  of  the  door,  and  then 
the  sudden  waking  in  the  starlight  made  him  tremble. 

He  had  thought  this  night  would  be  a  session  of 
solemnity  never  to  be  forgotten ;  but  he  found  himself 
dozing  and  his  thoughts  drifting,  and  it  was  only  by 
an  effort  that  he  could  compel  anything  like  the  atti 
tude  he  desired.  For  we  cannot  kindle  when  we  will 
the  sacred  fire  of  the  soul.  And  David  was  disappointed 
in  his  spiritual  experience,  and  shocked  at  what  he 
called  his  coldness  and  indifference,  which,  after  all, 
were  not  coldness  and  indifference,  but  the  apathy  of 
exhausted  feeling  and  physical  weariness. 

The  next  afternoon  there  was  a  quiet  gathering  in 
the  cabin  that  had  been  Liot's,  and  a  little  prayer  and 
admonition  ;  then,  in  the  beauteous  stillness  of  the  sum 
mer  day,  the  fishers  made  a  bier  of  their  crossed  oars, 
and  David  laid  his  father  upon  it.  There  was  no  coffin ; 
the  long,  majestic  figure  of  humanity  was  only  folded 
close  in  a  winding-sheet  and  his  own  blue  blanket. 
So,  by  the  sea-shore,  as  the  tide  murmured  and  the  sun 
glinted  brightly  through  swirling  banks  of  gray  clouds, 
they  carried  him  to  his  long  home.  No  one  spoke 
as  he  entered  it.  The  minister  dropped  his  kerchief 
upon  the  upturned  face,  and  David  cast  the  first  earth. 
Then  the  dead  man's  friends,  each  taking  the  spade 
in  his  turn,  filled  in  the  empty  place,  and  laid  over  it 
the  sod,  and  went  silently  away  in  twos  and  threes, 
each  to  his  own  home. 

When  all  had  disappeared,  David  followed.    He  had 


THE   DOOR  WIDE  OPEN  81 

now  an  irresistible  impulse  to  escape  from  his  old  sur 
roundings.  He  did  not  feel  as  if  he  cared  to  see  again 
any  one  who  had  been  a  part  of  his  past.  He  went 
back  to  the  cabin,  ate  some  bread  and  fish,  and  then 
with  a  little  reluctance  opened  his  father's  chest.  There 
was  small  wealth  in  it— only  some  letters,  and  Liot's 
kirk  clothes,  and  a  leather  purse  containing  sixteen 
sovereigns.  David  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  letters 
were  written  by  his  mother.  He  wondered  a  moment 
if  his  father  had  yet  found  her  again,  and  then  he 
kissed  the  bits  of  faded  script  and  laid  them  upon  the 
glowing  peats.  The  money  he  put  in  his  pocket,  and 
the  chest  and  clothing  he  resolved  to  take  to  Shetland 
with  him.  As  for  the  cabin,  he  decided  to  give  it  to 
Bella  Campbell.  "  She  was  sore  put  to  it  last  winter 
to  shelter  her  five  fatherless  bairns ;  and  if  my  father 
liked  any  one  more  than  others,  it  was  Angus  Camp 
bell,"  he  thought. 

Then  he  went  out  and  looked  at  the  boat.  "It  is 
small,"  he  said,  "  but  it  will  carry  me  to  Shetland.  I 
can  keep  in  the  shadows  of  the  shore.  And  though  it 
is  a  far  sail  round  Cape  Wrath  and  Dunnet  Head,  it  is 
summer  weather,  and  I  '11  win  my  way  if  it  so  pleases 
God." 

And  thus  it  happened  that  on  the  first  day  of  August 
this  lonely  wayfarer  on  cheerless  seas  caught  sight  of 
the  gray  cliffs  of  the  Shetlands,  lying  like  dusky  spots 
in  the  sapphire  and  crimson  splendors  of  the  setting 
sun. 


BOOK  SECOND 

* 
DAVID  BOKSON 


BOOK  SECOND 

* 
CONTENTS 

PAGE 

V.  A  NEW  LIFE 85 

VI.  KINDRED— THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD.        .        .       107 

VII.   So  FAR  AND  No  FARTHER 127 

VIII.  THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH     ....       144 

IX.  A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED 169 

X.  IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH       .....      192 

XI.   THE  LOWEST  HELL 210 

XII.   "AT  LAST  IT  is  PEACE"       ...  220 


A  NEW  LIFE 

|ETWEEN  David  and  the  misty  Hebrides 
there  was  now  many  a  league  of  the  sep 
arating,  changeful,  dangerous,  tragic  sea, 
but  the  journey  over  this  great  water 
way  had  been  a  singularly  fortunate 
one.  David,  indeed,  had  frequently  likened  himself  to 
the  young  Tobias  on  a  similar  errand ;  for  his  father 
had  particularly  pointed  out  this  history,  and  had 
read  aloud  to  him  with  an  emphasis  not  to  be  for 
gotten  the  old  Hebrew  father's  parting  charge :  "  Go ! 
and  God,  which  dwelleth  in  heaven,  prosper  your  jour 
ney,  and  the  angel  of  God  keep  you  company." 

To  David  this  angelic  companionship  was  no  impos 
sible  hope  and  reliance.  As  the  south  winds  drove 
him  north  and  the  west  winds  sent  him  east  just 
at  the  proper  times,  he  believed  that  some  wise  and 
powerful  pilot  stood  at  the  wheel  unseen ;  and  he  went 
about  his  boat  with  the  cheerful  confidence  of  a  child 
who  is  sure  his  father  can  take  care  of  him.  Some 
times  he  kept  so  close  to  the  shore  that  he  rippled  the 
shadows  of  the  great  cliffs,  and  sometimes  he  ran  into 
e  85 


86  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

little  coves  and  replenished  his  water-casks,  or  bought 
in  the  seaward  clachans  a  supply  of  fresh  cakes  or 
fish.  He  met  no  very  bad  weather.  The  unutterable 
desolation  of  the  misty  miles  of  sullen  water  did  give 
him  times  of  such  weariness  as  makes  the  soul  sink 
back  upon  itself  and  retire  from  all  hope  and  affec 
tion.  But  such  hours  were  evanescent;  they  were 
usually  ended  by  a  brisk  wind,  bringing  peril  to  the 
little  bark,  and  then  David's  first  instinct  was  heaven 
ward.  He  knew  if  the  winds  and  waves  rose  mightily, 
as  it  was  their  wont  in  that  locality,  there  was  no 
human  help,  and  his  trust  was  instantly  in  the  miracu 
lous.  Such  hours  were,  however,  rare.  As  a  general 
thing  the  days  and  the  nights  followed  each  other  with 
a  stillness  and  beauty  full  of  the  presence  of  God. 
And  in  the  sweetness  of  this  presence  he  threw  him 
self  unperplexed  upon  infinite  Jove  and  power,  and 
seeking  God  with  all  his  heart  found  him. 

Also,  he  was  not  forgetful  of  the  human  interest  of 
his  journey.  His  father  had  always  felt  himself  to  be 
a  stranger  and  an  exile  in  Skye,  and  in  his  later  years 
the  "homing"  instinct  for  the  Shetlands  had  been  a 
passionate  longing,  which  had  communicated  itself  to 
David.  He  had  been  glad  to  leave  TJig,  for  he  had 
not  a  single  happy  memory  of  the  little  hut  in  which 
they  two  had  dwelt  and  suffered  together.  As  for 
the  bleak  kirkyard,  over  which  the  great  winds  blew 
the  sea-foam,  it  made  his  heart  ache  to  remember  it. 
He  felt  an  unspeakable  pity  when  he  thought  of  one 
of  its  solitary  graves,  and  he  promised  himself  to  sail 
back  to  Uig  some  day,  and  bring  home  the  dust  of  his 
father,  and  lay  it  among  his  kindred. 


A  NEW  LIFE  87 

Indeed,  it  was  thoughts  of  home  and  kindred  which 
made  this  long,  lonely  voyage  happy  and  hopeful  to 
David.  He  believed  himself  to  be  going  home.  Though 
his  father  at  the  last  had  not  spoken  much  of  his  cou 
sin  Paul  Borson,  and  though  David  had  not  found  the 
letter  which  was  to  be  his  introduction  to  him,  yet  he 
had  not  a  doubt  of  his  welcome.  Time  might  wither 
friendship  and  slay  love,  but  his  kindred  were  always 
his  kindred ;  they  were  bound  to  him  by  the  inefface 
able  and  imperishable  ties  of  blood  and  race. 

David  approached  Lerwick  in  that  divine  twilight 
which  in  the  Shetland  summer  links  day  unto  day ; 
and  in  its  glory  the  ancient  homes  of  gray  and  white 
sandstone  appeared  splendid  habitations.  The  town 
was  very  quiet ;  even  the  houses  seemed  to  be  asleep. 
He  saw  no  living  thing  but  a  solitary  sea-gull  skim 
ming  the  surface  of  the  sea ;  he  heard  nothing  but  a 
drunken  sailor  fitfully  singing  a  stave  of  "  The  Skaalds 
of  Foula."  The  clear  air,  the  serene  seas,  the  tranquil 
grandeur  of  the  caverned  rocks  which  guard  the  lonely 
isles,  charmed  him.  And  when  the  sun  rose  and  he 
saw  their  mural  fronts  of  porphyry,  carved  by  storms 
into  ten  thousand  castles  in  the  air,  and  cloud-like 
palaces  still  more  fantastic,  he  felt  his  heart  glow  for 
the  land  of  his  birth  and  the  home  of  his  forefathers. 

To  the  tumult  of  almost  impossible  hopes  he  brought 
in  his  little  craft.  He  had  felt  certain  that  his  appear 
ance  would  awaken  at  once  interest  and  speculation ; 
that  Paul  Borson  would  hear  of  his  arrival  and  come 
running  to  meet  him ;  that  his  father's  old  friends, 
catching  the  news,  would  stop  him  on  the  quay  and 
the  street,  and  ask  him  questions  and  give  him  wel- 


88  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

come.  He  had  also  told  himself  that  it  was  likely  his 
father's  cousin  would  have  sons  and  daughters,  and  if 
so,  that  they  would  certainly  be  glad  to  see  him  j  be 
sides  which  there  was  his  mother's  family— the  old 
Icelandic  Sabistons.  He  was  resolved  to  seek  them 
all  out,  rich  or  poor,  far  or  near;  in  his  heart  there 
was  love  enough  and  to  spare,  however  distant  the 
kinship  might  be. 

For  David's  conceptions  of  the  family  and  racial  tie 
were  not  only  founded  upon  the  wide  Hebraic  ideals, 
but  his  singularly  lonely  youth  and  affectionate  nature 
had  disposed  him  to  make  an  exaggerated  estimate  of 
the  obligations  of  kindred.  And  again,  this  personal 
leaning  was  greatly  strengthened  by  the  inherited  ten 
dency  of  Norse  families  to  "  stand  by  each  other  in  all 
haps."  Therefore  he  felt  sure  of  his  welcome;  for, 
though  Paul  was  but  his  far-off  cousin,  they  were  both 
Borsons,  sprung  from  the  same  Norse  root,  children 
of  the  same  great  ancestor,  the  wise  and  brave  Nor 
wegian  Bor. 

Lying  in  the  Bay  of  Lerwick,  the  sense  of  security 
and  of  nearness  to  friends  gave  him  what  he  had  long 
missed— a  night  of  deep,  dreamless  sleep.  When  he 
awoke  it  was  late  in  the  morning,  and  he  had  his 
breakfast  to  prepare  and  every  spar  and  sail  and  rope 
to  put  in  perfect  order ;  then  he  dressed  himself  with 
care,  and  sailed  into  harbor,  managing  his  boat  with  a 
deftness  and  skill  he  expected  a  town  of  fishermen  and 
sailors  to  take  notice  of.  Alas,  it  is  so  difficult  to  find 
a  fortunate  hour !  David's  necessary  delay  had  brought 
the  morning  nearly  to  the  noon,  and  he  could  hardly 
have  fallen  on  a  more  depressing  time ;  for  the  trade 


A  NEW  LIFE  89 

of  the  early  morning  was  over,  and  the  men  were  in 
their  houses  taking  that  sleep  which  those  who  work 
by  night  must  secure  in  the  daytime.  The  fishing- 
boats,  all  emptied  of  their  last  night's  "take"  and 
cleaned,  were  idly  rocking  on  the  water.  The  utmost 
quiet  reigned  in  the  sunny  streets,  and  the  little  pier 
was  deserted.  No  one  took  any  notice  of  David. 

Greatly  disappointed,  and  even  wounded,  by  this 
very  natural  neglect,  David  made  fast  his  boat  and 
stepped  on  shore.  He  put  his  feet  down  firmly,  as  if 
he  was  taking  possession  of  his  own,  and  stood  still 
and  looked  around.  He  saw  a  man  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  loitering  down  the  street,  and  he  went 
toward  him ;  but  as  he  came  within  speaking  distance 
the  man  turned  into  a  house  and  shut  the  door. 
Pained  and  curious,  he  continued  his  aimless  walk. 
As  he  passed  Fae's  store  he  heard  the  confused  sound 
of  a  number  of  men  talking,  then  silence,  then  the 
tingling  notes  of  a  fiddle  very  cleverly  played.  For  a 
moment  he  was  bewitched  by  the  music ;  then  he  was 
sure  that  nothing  but  the  little  sinful  fiddle  of  carnal 
dance  and  song  could  make  sounds  so  full  of  tempta 
tion.  And  as  Odysseus,  passing  the  dwelling-place  of 
the  sirens,  "  closed  his  ears  and  went  swiftly  by,  sing 
ing  the  praises  of  the  gods,"  so  David,  remembering 
his  father's  counsels,  closed  his  ears  to  the  enchant 
ing  strains  and  hastened  beyond  their  power  to  charm 
him. 

A  little  farther  on  a  lovely  girl,  with  her  water- 
pitcher  on  her  head  and  her  knitting  in  her  hands, 
met  him.  She  looked  with  a  shy  smile  at  David,  and 
the  glance  from  her  eyes  made  him  thrill  with  plea- 

6* 


90  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

sure ;  but  before  lie  had  a  word  ready  she  had  passed, 
and  he  could  only  turn  and  look  at  her  tall  form  and 
the  heavy  braids  of  pale-brown  hair  below  the  water- 
pitcher.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  in  a  dream  as  he  went 
onward  again  down  the  narrow  street  of  gray  and 
white  houses— houses  so  tall,  and  so  fantastic,  and  so 
much  larger  than  he  had  ever  seen,  that  they  im 
pressed  him  with  a  sense  of  grandeur  in  which  he  had 
neither  right  nor  place ;  for,  though  he  saw  women 
moving  about  within  them  and  children  sitting  on  the 
door-steps,  no  one  spoke  to  him,  no  one  seemed  inter 
ested  in  his  presence  ;  and  yet  he  had  come  to  them 
with  a  heart  so  full  of  love !  Never  for  a  moment  did 
he  reflect  that  his  anticipations  had  rested  only  on  his 
own  desires  and  imaginations. 

His  disappointment  made  him  sorrowful,  but  in  no 
degree  resentful.  "It  was  not  to  be,"  he  decided. 
Then  he  resolved  to  return  to  a  public  house  he  had 
noticed  by  the  pier.  There  he  could  get  his  dinner  and 
make  some  inquiries  about  his  kindred.  As  he  turned 
he  met  face  to  face  a  middle-aged  woman  with  a  basket 
of  turf  on  her  back. 

"  Take  care,  my  lad,"  she  said  cheerfully ;  and  her 
smile  inspired  David  with  confidence. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  doffing  his  cap  with  instinctive 
politeness,  "mother,  I  am  a  stranger,  and  I  want  to 
find  my  father's  people— the  Borsons.  Where  do  they 
live?" 

"  My  lad,  the  sea  has  them.  It  is  Paul  Borson  you 
are  asking  for  ? " 

"Yes,  mother." 

"He  went  out  in  his  boat  with  his  four  sons  one 


/ 


/        -  .. "    •'  • 

If 

'I  WANT   TO  FIND  MY   FATHER'S  PEOPLE."* 


A  NEW  LIFE  93 

night.    The  boat  came  back  empty.    It  is  two  years 
since." 

"  I  am  Liot  Borson's  son." 

a 


"  Yes.    Have  I  any  kin  left  ?  " 

"  There  is  your  far-cousin  Nanna.  She  was  Paul's 
one  daughter,  and  he  saw  the  sun  shine  through  her 
eyes.  She  is  but  sadly  off  now.  Come  into  my  house, 
and  I  will  give  you  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mouthful  of 
bread  and  fish.  Thank  God,  there  is  enough  for  you 
and  for  me  !  " 

"  I  will  come,"  said  David,  simply  ;  and  he  took  the 
basket  from  the  woman,  and  flung  it  lightly  over  his 
own  shoulder.  Then  they  went  together  to  a  house 
in  one  of  the  numerous  "closes"  running  from  the 
main  street  to  the  ocean.  It  was  a  very  small  house, 
but  it  was  clean,  and  was  built  upon  a  rock,  the  foun 
dations  of  which  were  deep  down  in  the  sea.  When 
the  tide  was  full  David  could  have  sailed  his  boat 
under  its  small  seaward  window.  It  contained  a  few 
pieces  of  handsome  furniture,  and  some  old  Delft 
earthenware  which  had  been  brought  from  Holland 
by  seafaring  kindred  long  ago;  all  else  savored  of 
narrow  means. 

But  the  woman  set  before  David  a  pot  of  tea  and 
some  oat-cake,  and  she  fried  him  a  fresh  herring,  and 
he  ate  with  the  delayed  hunger  of  healthy  youth, 
heartily  and  with  pleasure.  And  as  he  did  so  she 
talked  to  him  of  his  father  Liot,  whom  she  had  known 
in  her  girlhood;  and  David  told  her  of  Liot's  long, 
hard  fight  with  death,  and  she  said  with  a  kind  of  sad 
pride  : 


94  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Yes  5  that  way  Liot  was  sure  to  fare  to  his  long 
home.  He  would  set  his  teeth  and  fight  for  his  life. 
Was  it  always  well  between  him  and  you  ? " 

"  He  was  hard  and  silent,  but  I  could  always  lean 
on  him  as  much  as  I  liked." 

"  That  is  a  good  deal  to  say." 

"  So  I  think." 

Then  they  drew  the  past  from  the  eternity  into 
which  it  had  fallen,  that  they  two,  brought  so  strangely 
together,  might  look  at  it  between  them.  They  talked 
of  Liot's  hard  life  and  hard  death  for  an  hour,  and 
then  the  woman  said : 

"  Paul  Borson  was  of  the  same  kind— silent,  but  full 
of  deeds ;  and  his  daughter  Nanna,  she  also  has  a  great 
heart." 

"  Show  me  now  where  she  lives,  and  I  will  go  and 
see  her.  Also,  tell  me  your  name." 

"  I  am  Barbara  Traill.  When  you  have  seen  Nanna 
come  back  here,  and  I  will  give  you  a  place  to  sleep 
and  a  little  meat ;  and  as  soon  as  it  is  well  with  you  it 
will  be  easy  to  pay  my  charges." 

"  If  there  is  no  room  for  me  in  my  cousin's  house  I 
will  come  back  to  you." 

So  Barbara  walked  with  him  to  the  end  of  the  street, 
and  pointed  out  a  little  group  of  huts  on  the  distant 
moor.  "  Go  into  the  first  one,"  she  said  5  "  it  is  Nanna 
Sinclair's.  And  be  sure  and  keep  to  the  trodden  path, 
for  outside  of  it  there  are  bogs  that  no  man  knows  the 
bottom  of." 

Then  David  went  forward  alone,  and  his  heart  fell, 
and  a  somber  look  crept  like  a  cloud  over  his  face. 
This  was  not  the  home-coming  he  had  anticipated— 


A  NEW  LIFE  95 

this  poor  meal  at  a  stranger's  fireside.  He  had  been 
led  to  think  that  his  cousin  Paul  had  a  large  house 
and  the  touch  of  money-getting.  "  He  and  his  will 
be  well  off,"  Liot  had  affirmed  more  than  once.  And 
one  day,  while  he  yet  could  stand  in  the  door  of  his 
hut,  he  had  looked  longingly  northward  and  said, "  Oh, 
if  I  could  win  home  again !  Paul  would  make  a  four 
teen  days'  feast  to  welcome  me." 

The  very  vagueness  of  these  remarks  had  given 
strength  to  David's  imagination.  He  had  hoped  for 
things  larger  than  his  knowledge,  and  he  had  quite 
forgotten  to  take  into  his  calculations  the  fact  that 
as  the  years  wear  on  they  wear  out  love  and  life,  and 
leave  little  but  graves  behind  them.  At  this  hour  he 
felt  his  destiny  to  be  hard  and  unlovely,  and  the  text 
learned  as  one  of  the  pillars  of  his  faith,  "  Jacob  have 
I  loved,  Esau  have  I  hated,"  forced  itself  upon  his  re 
flection.  A  deadly  fear  came  into  his  heart  that  the 
Borsons  were  among  these  hated  ones.  Why  else  did 
God  pursue  them  with  such  sufferings  and  fatalities  ? 
And  what  could  he  do  to  propitiate  this  unfriendly 
Deity? 

His  road  was  upon  the  top  of  the  cliff,  over  a  moor 
covered  with  peat-bogs  and  withered  heather.  The 
sea  was  below  him,  and  a  long,  narrow  lake  lay  silent 
and  motionless  among  the  dangerous  moss— a  lake 
so  old  and  dead-looking  that  it  might  have  been  the 
shadow  of  a  lake  that  once  was.  Nothing  green  was 
near  it,  and  no  birds  were  tempted  by  its  sullen 
waters;  yet  untold  myriads  of  sea-birds  floated  and 
wheeled  between  sea  and  sky,  and  their  hungry,  mel 
ancholy  cries  and  the  desolate  landscape  stimulated 


96  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  colored  David's  sad  musings,  though  he  was  quite 
unaware  of  their  influence. 

When  he  came  to  the  group  of  huts,  he  paused  a 
moment.  They  were  the  abodes  of  poverty ;  there  was 
none  better  than  the  rest.  But  Barbara  had  said  that 
Nanna's  was  the  first  one,  and  he  went  slowly  toward 
it.  No  one  appeared,  though  the  door  stood  wide 
open ;  but  when  he  reached  the  threshold  he  could  see 
Nanna  sitting  within.  She  was  busily  braiding  the 
fine  Tuscan  straw  for  which  Shetland  was  then  fa 
mous,  and  her  eyes  were  so  intently  following  her 
rapid  fingers  that  it  was  unlikely  she  had  seen  him 
coming.  Indeed,  she  did  not  raise  them  at  once,  for 
it  was  necessary  to  leave  her  work  at  a  certain  point ; 
and  in  that  moment's  delay  David  looked  with  a  breath 
less  wonder  at  the  woman  before  him. 

She  was  sitting,  and  yet  even  sitting  she  was  majestic. 
Her  face  was  large,  but  perfectly  oval,  and  fair  as  a  lily ; 
her  bright-brown  hair  was  parted,  passed  smoothly  be 
hind  the  ears,  and  beautifully  braided.  Serenity  and  an 
unalterable  calm  gave  to  the  young  face  something  of  the 
fixity  of  marble ;  but  as  David  spoke  she  let  her  eyes  fall 
upon  a  little  child  at  her  feet,  and  then  lifted  them  to 
him  with  a  smile  as  radiant  and  life-giving  as  sunshine. 
"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  asked,  as  she  took  her  babe  in 
her  arms  and  went  toward  David. 

"  I  am  your  far-cousin  David  Borson." 
"  The  son  of  my  father's  cousin  Liot  ? " 
"Yes.     Liot  Borson  is  dead,  and  here  am  I." 
"  You  are  welcome,  for  you  were  to  come.   My  father 
talked  often  of  his  cousin  Liot.     They  are  both  gone 
away  from  this  world." 


A  NEW  LIFE  97 

"  I  think  they  have  found  each  other  again.  Who 
can  tell?" 

"  Among  the  great  multitude  that  no  man  can  num 
ber,  it  might  not  be  easy." 

"If  God  willed  it  so?" 

"  That  would  be  sufficient.  This  is  your  little  cousin 
Vala;  she  is  nearly  two  years  old.  Is  she  not  very 
pretty?" 

"I  know  not  what  to  say.  She  is  too  pretty  for 
words." 

"  Sit  down,  cousin,  and  tell  me  all." 

And  as  they  talked  her  eyes  enthralled  him.  They 
were  deep  blue,  and  had  a  solar  brilliancy  as  if  they 
imbibed  light— holy  eyes,  with  the  slow-moving  pupils 
that  indicate  a  religious,  perhaps  a  mystical,  soul. 
David  sat  with  her  until  sunset,  and  she  gave  him  a 
simple  meal  of  bread  and  tea,  and  talked  confiden 
tially  to  him  of  Liot  and  of  her  own  father  and  bro 
thers.  But  of  herself  she  said  nothing  at  all ;  neither 
could  David  find  courage  to  ask  her  a  single  question. 

He  watched  her  sing  her  child  to  sleep,  and  he  sat 
down  with  her  on  the  door-step,  and  they  talked  softly 
together  of  death  and  of  judgment  to  come.  And  the 
women  from  the  other  huts  gradually  joined  them, 
and  the  soft  Shetland  night  glorified  the  somber  land 
and  the  mysterious  sea,  until  at  last  David  rose  and 
said  he  must  go  back  to  Lerwick,  for  the  day  was 
over. 

A  strange  day  it  had  been  to  him ;  but  he  was  too 
primitive  to  attempt  any  reasoning  about  its  events. 
When  he  left  Nanna's  he  was  under  that  strong  excite 
ment  which  makes  a  man  walk  as  if  he  were  treading 


98  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

upon  the  void,  and  there  was  a  hot  confusion  in  his 
thoughts  and  feelings.  He  stepped  rapidly,  and  the 
stillness  of  the  lovely  night  did  not  soothe  or  reason 
with  him.  As  he  approached  the  town  he  saw  the 
fishing-boats  leaving  the  harbor,  and  in  the  fairy 
light  they  looked  like  living  things  with  outspread 
wings.  Two  fishers  were  standing  at  a  house  door 
with  a  woman,  who  was  filling  a  glass.  She  held  it 
aloft  a  moment,  and  then  gave  it  to  one  with  the 
words :  "  Death  to  the  heads  that  wear  no  hair !  " 

"  The  herring  and  the  halibut,  the  haddock  and  the 
sole,"  answered  the  man ;  and  he  drank  a  little,  and 
passed  it  to  his  comrade.  Then  up  the  street  they 
hurried  like  belated  men ;  and  David  felt  the  urging 
of  accustomed  work,  and  a  sense  of  delinquency  in 
his  purposeless  hands. 

He  found  Barbara  waiting.  She  knew  that  he 
would  not  stay  at  Nanna  Sinclair's,  and  she  had  pre 
pared  the  room  of  her  absent  son  for  him.  "  If  he  can 
pay  one  shilling  a  day,  it  will  be  a  godsend  to  me," 
she  thought ;  and  when  she  told  David  so  he  answered, 
"  That  is  a  little  matter,  and  no  doubt  there  will  be 
good  between  us." 

He  saw  then  that  the  window  was  open,  and  the 
sea- water  lippering  nearly  to  the  sill  of  it;  and  he 
took  off  his  bonnet,  and  sat  down,  and  let  the  cool 
breeze  blow  upon  his  hot  brow.  It  was  near  midnight, 
but  what  then  ?  David  had  never  been  more  awake 
in  all  his  life— yes,  awake  to  his  finger-tips.  Yet  for 
half  an  hour  he  sat  by  the  window  and  never  opened 
his  mouth ;  and  Barbara  sat  on  the  hearth,  and  raked 
the  smoldering  peats  together,  and  kept  a  like  silence. 


A  NEW  LIFE  99 

She  was  well  used  to  talk  with  her  own  thoughts,  and 
to  utter  words  was  no  necessity  to  Barbara  Traill ; 
but  she  knew  what  David  was  thinking  of,  and  she 
was  quite  prepared  for  the  first  word  which  parted  his 
set  lips. 

"  Is  my  cousin  Nanna  a  widow  ? " 

"  No." 

"  Where,  then,  is  her  husband  ? " 

"  Who  can  tell  ?  He  is  gone  away  from  Shetland, 
and  no  one  is  sorry  for  that." 

"  One  thing  is  sure— Nanua  is  poor,  and  she  is  in 
trouble.  How  comes  that?  Who  is  to  blame  in  the 
matter?" 

"  Nicol  Sinclair — he,  and  he  only.  Sorrow  and  suf 
fering  and  ill  luck  of  all  kinds  he  has  brought  her, 
and  there  is  no  help  for  it." 

"No  help  for  it !     I  shall  see  about  that." 

"  You  had  best  let  Nicol  Sinclair  alone.  He  is  one 
of  the  worst  of  men,  a  son  of  the  devil— no,  the  very 
devil  himself.  And  he  has  your  kinswoman  Matilda 
Sabiston  at  his  back.  All  the  ill  he  does  to  Nanna  he 
does  to  please  her.  To  be  sure,  the  guessing  is  not  all 
that  way,  but  yet  most  people  think  Matilda  is  much 
to  blame." 

"  How  came  Nanna  Borson  to  marry  such  a  man  ? 
Was  not  her  father  alive  ?  Had  she  no  brothers  to 
stand  between  her  and  this  son  of  the  Evil  One  ? " 

"  When  Nanna  Borson  took  hold  of  Nicol  Sinclair 
for  a  husband  she  thought  she  had  taken  hold  of 
heaven ;  and  he  was  not  unkind  to  her  until  after  the 
drowning  of  her  kin.  Then  he  took  her  money  and 
traded  with  it  to  Holland,  and  lost  it  all  there,  and 


100  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

came  back  bare  and  empty-handed.  And  when  he 
entered  his  home  there  was  the  baby  girl,  and  Nanna 
out  of  her  mind  with  fever  and  like  to  die,  and  not 
able  to  say  a  word  this  way  or  that.  And  Nicol 
wanted  money,  and  he  went  to  Matilda  Sabiston  and 
he  got  what  he  wanted ;  but  what  was  then  said  no 
one  knows,  for  ever  since  he  has  hated  the  Borsons, 
root  and  branch,  and  his  own  wife  and  child  have 
borne  the  weight  of  it.  That  is  not  all." 

u  Tell  me  all,  then ;  but  make  no  more  of  it  than  it 
is  worth." 

"  There  is  little  need  to  do  that.  Before  Nanna  was 
strong  again  he  sold  the  house  which  Paul  Borson  had 
given  to  her  as  a  marriage  present.  He  sold  also  all 
the  plenishing,  and  whatever  else  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on.  Then  he  set  sail ;  but  there  was  little  space 
between  two  bad  deeds,  for  no  sooner  was  he  home 
again  than  he  took  the  money  Paul  Borson  had  put  in 
the  bank  for  his  daughter,  and  when  no  one  saw  him 
—in  the  night-time—he  slipped  away  with  a  sound 
skin,  the  devil  knows  where  he  went  to." 

"  Were  there  no  men  in  Lerwick  at  that  time  ? " 

"  Many  men  were  in  Lerwick— men,  too,  who  never 
get  to  their  feet  for  nothing ;  and  no  man  was  so  well 
hated  as  Nicol  Sinclair.  But  Nanna  said :  '  I  have  had 
sorrow  enough.  If  you  touch  him  you  touch  me  ten 
fold.  He  has  threatened  me  and  the  child  with  mea 
sureless  evil  if  I  say  this  or  that  against  anything  he 
does.'  And  as  every  one  knows,  when  Nicol  is  angry 
the  earth  itself  turns  inside  out  before  him." 

"  I  do  not  fear  him  a  jot— not  I ! " 

"  If  you  had  ever  seen  him  swaggering  and  rolling 


A  NEW  LIFE  101 

from  one  day  into  another,  if  you  had  ever  seen  him 
stroking  his  bare  arms  and  peering  round  with  wicked 
eyes  for  some  one  to  ease  him  of  his  temper,  you  would 
not  say  such  words." 

"  I  will  not  call  my  words  back  for  much  more  than 
that,  and  I  will  follow  up  this  quarrel." 

"  If  you  are  foolish,  you  may  do  so ;  if  you  are  wise, 
you  will  be  neither  for  nor  against  Nicol  Sinclair. 
There  is  a  wide  and  a  safe  way  between  these  two. 
Let  me  tell  you,  Nanna's  life  lies  in  it.  I  have  not  yet 
told  you  all." 

"  Speak  the  last  word,  then." 

"  Think  what  cruel  things  a  bad  man  can  always  do 
to  a  good  woman ;  all  of  them  Nicol  Sinclair  has  done 
to  your  cousin  Nanna.  Yes,  it  is  so.  When  she  was 
too  weak  to  hold  her  baby  in  her  arms  he  bade  her 
'  die,  and  make  way  for  a  better  woman.'  And  one 
night  he  lured  her  to  the  cliff -top,  and  then  and  there 
he  quarreled  with  her;  and  men  think— yes,  and 
women  think  so  too— that  he  threw  the  child  into  the 
water,  and  that  Nanna  leaped  after  it.  That  was  the 
story  in  every  one's  mouth." 

"  Was  it  true  ?     Tell  me  that." 

"  There  was  more  than  guesswork  to  go  on.  Mag 
nus  Crawford  took  them  out  of  the  sea,  and  the  child 
was  much  hurt,  for  it  has  never  walked,  nor  yet  spoken 
a  word,  and  there  are  those  who  say  it  never  will." 

"And  what  said  my  cousin  Nanna?" 

"  She  held  her  peace  both  to  men  and  women ;  but 
what  she  said  to  God  on  the  matter  he  knows.  It  is 
none  of  thy  business.  She  has  grown  stronger  and 
quieter  with  every  sorrow ;  and  it  is  out  of  a  mother's 


102  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

strength,  I  tell  thee,  and  not  her  weakness,  that  good 
can  come." 

Then  David  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  to  walk  furi 
ously  about  the  small  room.  His  face  was  white  as 
death,  and  he  spoke  with  a  still  intensity,  dropping 
each  word  as  if  it  were  a  separate  oath. 

"  I  wish  that  Sinclair  were  here— in  this  room !  I 
would  lay  his  neck  across  my  knee,  and  break  it  like 
a  dog's.  I  would  that !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  joy  to  see  thee  do  it.  I  would  say, 
1  Well  done,  David  Borson ! '» 

"I  am  glad  that  God  has  made  Tophet  for  such 
men !  "  cried  David,  passionately.  "  Often  I  have 
trembled  at  the  dreadful  justice  of  the  Holy  One ;  I 
see  now  how  good  it  is.  To  be  sure,  when  God  puts 
his  hook  into  the  nose  of  the  wicked,  and  he  is  made 
to  go  a  way  he  does  not  want  to  go,  then  he  has  to 
cease  from  troubling.  But  I  wish  not  that  he  may 
cease  from  being  troubled.  No,  indeed ;  I  wish  that 
he  may  have  weeping  and  wailing !  I  will  stay  here. 
Some  day  Sinclair  will  come  back ;  then  he  shall  pay 
all  he  owes." 

Suddenly  David  remembered  his  father's  sad  con 
fession,  and  he  was  silent.  The  drowning  of  Bele 
Trenby  and  all  that  followed  it  flashed  like  a  fiery 
thought  through  his  heart,  and  he  went  into  his  room, 
and  shut  the  door,  and  flung  himself  face  downward 
upon  the  floor.  Would  God  count  his  anger  as  very 
murder?  Would  he  enter  into  judgment  with  him 
for  it  ?  Oh,  how  should  a  sinful  man  order  all  his  way 
and  words  aright !  And  in  a  little  while  Barbara 
heard  him  weeping,  and  she  said  to  herself : 


AXD  YALA 


A  NEW  LIFE  105 

"  He  is  a  good  man.  God  loves  those  who  remem 
ber  him  when  they  are  alone  and  weep.  The  minister 
said  that." 

This  day  had  indeed  been  to  David  a  kind  of  second 
birth.  He  had  entered  into  a  new  life  and  taken  pos 
session  of  himself.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  different 
being  from  the  youth  who  had  sailed  for  weeks  alone 
with  God  upon  the  great  waters ;  but  still  he  was  a 
riddle  to  himself,  and  it  was  this  feeling  of  utter  con 
fusion  and  weakness  and  ignorance  that  had  sent  him, 
weeping  and  speechless,  to  the  very  feet  of  the  divine 
Father. 

But  if  the  mind  is  left  quite  passive  we  are  often 
instructed  in  our  sleep.  David  awakened  with  a  plan 
of  life  clearly  in  his  mind.  He  resolved  to  remain 
with  Barbara  Traill,  and  follow  his  occupation  of  fish 
ing,  and  do  all  that  he  could  to  make  his  cousin  Nanna 
happy.  The  intense  strength  of  his  family  affection 
led  him  to  this  resolve.  He  had  not  fallen  in  love 
with  Nanna.  As  a  wife  she  was  sacred  in  his  eyes,  and 
it  never  entered  his  mind  that  any  amount  of  ill  treat 
ment  could  lessen  Sinclair's  claim  upon  her.  But 
though  far  off,  she  was  his  cousin ;  the  blood  of  the 
Borsons  flowed  alike  through  both  their  hearts ;  and 
David,  who  could  feel  for  all  humanity,  could  feel 
most  of  all  for  Nanna  and  Vala. 

Nanna  herself  had  acknowledged  this  claim.  He 
remembered  how  gladly  she  had  welcomed  him;  he 
could  feel  yet  the  warm  clasp  of  her  hand,  and  the 
shining  of  her  eyes  was  like  nothing  he  had  ever  be 
fore  seen.  Even  little  Vala  had  been  pleased  to  lie  in 
his  strong  arms.  She  had  put  up  her  small  mouth  for 


106  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

him  to  kiss,  and  had  slept  an  hour  upon  his  breast. 
As  he  thought  of  that  kiss  he  felt  it  on  his  lips,  warm 
and  sweet.  Yes,  indeed ;  there  was  love  in  that  poor 
little  hut  that  David  Borson  could  not  bear  to  lose. 

So  he  said  to  Barbara  in  the  morning :  "  I  will  stay 
with  you  while  it  pleases  us  both." 

And  Barbara  answered :  "  A  great  help  and  comfort 
thou  wilt  be  to  me,  and  doubtless  Grod  sent  thee." 


YT 

KINDRED— THE   QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD 

HETLAND  was,  then,  to  be  David's 
home,  and  he  accepted  the  destiny 
gladly.  He  felt  near  to  the  people,  and 
he  admired  the  old  gray  town,  with  its 
roving,  adventurous  population.  His 
first  duty  was  to  remove  his  personal  belongings  from 
his  boat  to  Barbara  Traill's  house,  and  when  this  was 
done  it  was  easy  enough  to  set  himself  to  business ; 
for  as  soon  as  he  went  among  the  fishers  and  said, 
"  My  name  is  Borson,  and  I  am  the  son  of  your  old 
mate  Liot  Borson,"  he  found  himself  in  a  circle  of 
outstretched  hands.  And  as  he  had  brought  his  nets 
and  lines  with  him,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  getting  men 
who  were  glad  to  help  him  with  his  fishing,  and  to  in 
struct  him  in  the  peculiarities  of  the  coast  and  the  set 
of  its  tides  and  currents. 

For  the  rest,  there  was  no  sailor  or  fisher  in  Lerwick 
who  was  so  fearless  and  so  wise  in  all  sea-lore  as 
David  Borson.  Sink  or  swim,  he  was  every  inch  a 
seaman.  He  read  the  sea  as  a  landsman  reads  a  book ; 
he  knew  all  its  moods  and  its  deceitfulness,  and  the 

107 


108  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

more  placid  it  was  the  more  David  mistrusted  its  in 
tentions  ;  he  was  always  watching  it.  The  men  of  Uig 
had  been  wont  to  say  that  David  Borson  would  not 
turn  his  back  on  the  sea,  lest  it  should  get  some  ad 
vantage  over  him.  This  intimacy  of  mistrust  was  the 
result  of  his  life's  training ;  it  was  the  practical  educa 
tion  of  nearly  twenty  years. 

His  next  move  was  to  see  the  minister  and  present 
to  him  the  letter  from  the  minister  of  Uig,  which  au 
thenticated  his  kirk  standing  and  his  moral  character. 
He  put  on  his  kirk  clothes  for  this  call,  and  was 
sorry  afterward  that  he  had  so  hampered  himself ;  for 
the  good  man  met  him  with  both  hands  outstretched, 
and  blessed  him  in  the  name  of  the  Lord. 

"  I  married  your  father  and  mother,  David,"  he  said. 
"  I  baptized  you  into  the  fold  of  Lerwick  kirk,  and  I 
buried  your  sweet  mother  in  its  quiet  croft.  Your 
father  was  near  to  me  and  dear  to  me.  A  good  man 
was  Liot  Borson— a  good  man !  When  that  is  said, 
what  more  is  left  to  say  ?  While  my  life-days  last  I 
shall  not  forget  Liot  Borson."  And  then  they  talked 
of  David's  life  in  Uig,  and  when  he  left  the  manse  he 
knew  that  he  had  found  a  friend. 

It  was  then  Thursday  night,  and  he  did  not  care  to 
go  to  the  fishing  until  the  following  Monday.  Before 
he  began  to  serve  himself  he  wished  to  serve  God,  and 
so  handsel  his  six  days'  work  by  the  blessing  of  the 
seventh.  This  was  the  minister's  advice  to  him,  and 
he  found  that  every  one  thought  it  right  and  good; 
so,  though  he  made  his  boat  ready  for  sea,  she  was  not 
to  try  her  speed  and  luck  on  her  new  fishing-ground 
until  David  had  offered  up  thanksgiving  for  his  safe 


KINDEED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       109 

journey,  and  supplications  for  grace  and  wisdom  to 
guide  his  new  life  aright. 

"  There  is  no  more  that  I  can  do  now  until  the  early 
tide  on  Monday  morning,"  he  said  to  Barbara  Traill, 
"  and  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  any  more  of  my  kin- 
folk.  Are  any  of  my  mother's  family  yet  li ving  ? " 

"  The  Sabistons  have  all  gone  south  to  the  Orkneys. 
They  are  handy  at  money-getting,  and  the  rumor  goes 
abroad  that  they  are  rich  and  masterful,  and  ill  to  deal 
with ;  but  they  were  ever  all  that,  or  the  old  tellings- 
up  do  them  much  wrong." 

"  Few  people  are  better  spoken  of  than  they  deserve." 

"  That  is  so.  Yet  no  one  in  Lerwick  is  so  well  hated 
as  your  great-aunt  Matilda  Sabiston.  She  is  the  last 
of  the  family  left  in  Shetland.  Go  and  see  her  if  you 
wish  to ;  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it ;  but  I  can 
give  you  a  piece  of  advice :  lean  not  for  anything  on 
Matilda  Sabiston." 

"  All  I  want  of  her  is  a  little  love  for  my  mother's 
sake ;  so  I  will  go  and  see  her.  For  the  sake  of  the 
dead  she  will  at  least  be  civil." 

"  Nothing  will  come  of  the  visit.  It  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected  that  Matilda  will  behave  well  to  you,  when  she 
behaves  ill  to  every  one  else." 

"  For  all  that,  I  would  like  to  look  upon  her.  We 
are  blood-kin.  I  have  a  right  to  see  her  face ;  I  have 
a  right  to  offer  her  my  service  and  my  duty ;  whether 
she  will  take  it  or  throw  it  from  her  is  to  be  seen." 

"  She  will  not  take  it.  However,  here  is  your  dinner 
ready,  and  after  you  have  eaten  it  go  and  see  your 
kinswoman.  You  will  easily  find  her ;  she  lives  in  the 
largest  house  in  Lerwick." 

7* 


110  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

The  little  opposition  to  his  desires  confirmed  David 
in  his  resolve.  When  he  had  eaten,  and  dressed  him 
self  in  his  best  clothing,  he  went  to  Matilda  Sabiston's 
house.  It  was  a  large  stone  dwelling,  and  had  been 
famous  for  the  unusual  splendor  of  its  furnishing. 
David  was  astonished  and  interested,  but  not  in  the 
least  abashed ;  for  the  absorbing  idea  in  his  mind  was 
that  of  kindred,  and  the  soft  carpets,  the  velvet-covered 
chairs  and  sofas,  the  pictures  and  ornaments,  were 
only  the  accessories  of  the  condition.  An  old  woman, 
grim  and  of  few  words,  opened  the  heavy  door,  and 
then  tottered  slowly  along  a  narrow  flagged  passage 
before  him  until  they  came  to  a  somberly  furnished 
parlor,  where  Mistress  Sabiston  was  sitting,  apparently 
asleep. 

"  Wake  up,  mistress,"  said  the  woman.  "  Here  be 
some  one  that  wants  to  see  you." 

"A  beggar,  then,  either  for  kirk  or  town.  I  have 
nothing  to  give." 

"  Not  so ;  he  is  a  fair,  strong  lad,  who  says  you  are 
his  aunt." 

"He  lies,  whoever  he  is.  Let  me  see  the  fool, 
Anita." 

"  Here  he  is,  mistress.  Let  him  speak  for  himself." 
And  Anita  stood  aside  and  permitted  David  to  enter 
the  room. 

Matilda  sat  in  a  large,  uncushioned  chair  of  black 
wood— the  chair  of  her  fore-elder  Olaf,  who  had  made 
it  in  Iceland  from  some  rare  drift,  and  brought  it  with 
his  other  household  goods  to  Shetland  ten  generations 
past.  It  was  a  great  deal  too  large  for  her  shrunken 
form,  and  her  old,  old  face  against  its  blackness  looked 


KINDEED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       111 

as  if  it  had  been  carved  out  of  the  yellow  ivory  of 
Sudan.  Never  had  David  seen  a  countenance  so  void 
of  expression ;  it  was  like  a  scroll  made  unreadable  by 
the  wear  and  dust  of  years.  Life  appeared  to  have 
retreated  entirely  to  her  eyes,  which  were  fierce  and 
darkly  glowing.  And  the  weight  and  coldness  of  her 
great  age  communicated  itself  j  he  was  chilled  by  her 
simple  presence. 

"  What  is  your  business  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  the  son  of  your  niece  Karen." 

"  I  have  no  niece." 

"  Yea,  but  you  have.  Death  breaks  no  kinship.  It 
is  souls  that  are  related,  not  bodies;  and  souls  live 
forever." 

"  Babble !     In  a  word,  what  brought  you  here  f " 

"  I  came  only  to  see  you." 

"  Well,  then,  I  sent  not  for  you." 

"  Yet  I  thought  you  would  wish  to  see  me." 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Liot  Borson  is  dead." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.  He  was  a  murderer  while  he 
lived,  and  now  I  hope  that  he  is  a  soul  in  pain  for- 
evermore." 

"  I  am  his  son,  and  you  must  not—" 

"  Then  what  brought  you  here  ?  I  have  hoped  you 
were  dead  for  many  a  year.  If  all  the  Borsons,  root 
and  branch,  were  gone  to  their  father  the  devil,  it 
would  be  a  pleasure  to  me.  I  have  ever  hated  them ; 
to  all  who  knew  them  they  were  bringers  of  bad  luck," 
she  muttered  angrily,  looking  into  David's  face  with 
eyes  full  of  baleful  fire. 

"  Yet  is  love  stronger  than  hate,  and  because  my 


112  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

mother  was  of  your  blood  and  kin  I  will  not  hate 
you." 

"  Hear  a  wonder !  "  she  screamed.  "  The  man  will 
not  hate  me.  Son  of  a  murderer,  I  want  not  one  kind 
thought  from  you." 

"  There  is  no  cause  to  call  my  father  what  neither 
God  nor  man  has  called  him." 

"  Cause  enough !  I  know  that  right  well." 

"  Then  it  is  only  right  you  give  proof  of  such  asser 
tions.  Say  what  you  mean  and  be  done  with  it." 

"  Ah !  you  are  getting  angry  at  last.  Your  father 
would  have  been  spitting  fire  before  this.  But  it  was 
not  with  fire  he  slew  Bele  Trenby— no,  indeed ;  it  was 
with  water.  Did  he  not  tell  you  so  when  he  stood  on 
the  brink  of  Tophet?" 

"  God  did  not  suffer  his  soul  to  be  led  near  the  awful 
place.  When  he  gave  up  his  ghost  he  gave  it  up  to 
the  merciful  Father  of  spirits.  It  is  wicked  to  speak 
lies  of  the  living ;  it  is  abominable  and  dangerous  to 
speak  ill  of  the  dead." 

"  I  fear  neither  the  living  nor  the  dead.  I  will  say 
to  my  last  breath  that  Liot  Borson  murdered  Bele 
Trenby.  He  was  long  minded  to  do  the  deed ;  at  last 
he  did  it." 

"  How  can  you  alone,  of  all  the  men  and  women  in 
Lerwick,  know  this  ? " 

"  That  night  I  dreamed  a  dream.  I  saw  the  moss 
and  the  black  water,  and  Bele's  white,  handsome  face 
go  down  into  it.  And  I  saw  your  father  there.  What 
for  ?  That  he  might  do  the  murder  in  his  heart." 

"  The  dream  came  from  your  own  thoughts." 

"It  came  from  Bele's  angel.     The  next  day— yes, 


KINDEED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       113 

and  many  times  afterward— I  took  to  the  spot  the  dog 
that  loved  Bele,  and  the  creature  whined  and  crouched 
to  his  specter.  Men  are  poor,  sightless  creatures ;  ani 
mals  see  spirits  where  we  are  blind  as  bats." 

"Are  these  your  proofs?  Why  do  people  suffer 
you  to  say  such  things?" 

"  Because  in  their  hearts  they  believe  me.  Murders 
tell  tales;  secretly,  in  the  night,  crossing  the  moss, 
when  men  are  not  thinking,  they  breathe  suspicion ; 
they  speak  after  being  long  dumb.  Fifty  years  is  not 
the  date  of  their  bond.  They  haunt  the  place  of  their 
tragedy,  and  men  dream  of  the  deed.  So  it  is.  The 
report  sticks  to  Liot,  and  more  will  come  of  it  yet. 
Oh,  that  he  were  in  your  shoes  to-day !  I  would  find 
the  strength  to  slay  him,  if  I  died  and  went  to  hell 
for  it." 

"Woman,  why  dost  thou  damn  thyself  while  yet 
there  is  a  hope  of  mercy  ? " 

"  Mercy !  What  have  you  to  do  with  mercy  ?  One 
thing  rejoices  me :  it  will  not  be  long  ere  I  meet  that 
blessed  thrall  that  cursed  all  the  generations  of  the 
Borsons.  He  and  I  will  strike  hands  in  that  quarrel ; 
and  it  shall  go  ill  with  you  and  your  children  till  the 
last  Borson  be  cursed  off  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"I  will  flee  unto  the  Omnipotent.  He  will  keep 
even  my  shadow  from  the  evil  ones  that  follow  after. 
Now  I  will  go,  for  I  see  there  is  no  hope  of  good-will 
between  us  two." 

"  And  it  is  my  advice  that  you  go  away  from  Shet 
land." 

"  That  I  will  not  do.  There  are  my  cousins  Nanna 
and  Vala  here ;  and  it  is  freely  said  that  you  have  done 


114  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

them  much  ill.  I  will  stay  here  and  do  them  all  the 
good  I  can." 

"  Then  you  will  have  Nicol  Sinclair  to  settle  with. 
That  is  the  best  of  my  wish.  Nicol  Sinclair  is  my 
third  cousin,  and  I  have  given  him  five  hundred  pounds 
because  he  hates  the  Borsons  and  is  ready  to  cross 
their  happiness  in  all  things  possible.  Pack,  now, 
from  my  presence !  I  have  no  more  to  say  to  you. 
I  am  no  kin  to  you,  and  I  have  taken  good  care  to  pre 
vent  the  law  making  you  kin.  My  will  is  made.  All 
that  I  have  not  given  to  Nicol  Sinclair  goes  to  make 
free  the  slaves  in  Africa.  Freedom !  freedom !  free 
dom  !  "  she  shrieked.  "  Nothing  is  cruel  but  slavery." 

It  was  the  old  Norse  passion  for  liberty,  strong  and 
vital  when  every  other  love  was  ashes.  It  was  a  pas 
sion  also  to  which  David  instantly  responded.  The 
slumbering  sentiment  awoke  like  a  giant  in  his  heart, 
and  he  comprehended  it  by  a  racial  instinct  as  passion 
ate  as  her  own. 

"  You  have  done  well,"  he  said.  "  Hunger  and  cold, 
pain  and  poverty,  are  nothing  if  one  has  freedom.  It 
is  a  grand  thing  to  set  a  man  or  a  woman  freer 

11  And  yet  you  catch  haddock  and  herring !  Bah ! 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  each  other." 

"  Then  farewell,  aunt,  and  God  give  you  mercy  in 
the  day  you  will  need  mercy." 

She  was  suddenly  and  stolidly  silent.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  dull  glow  of  the  burning  peats,  and  re 
lapsed  into  the  torpor  that  was  her  habitual  mood. 
Its  force  was  insurmountable.  David  went  slowly  out 
of  her  presence,  and  was  unable  for  some  time  to  cast 
off  the  depression  of  her  icy  influence.  Yet  the  meet- 


KINDEED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       115 

ing  had  not  been  without  result.  During  it  he  had 
felt  the  first  conscious  throb  of  that  new  passion  for 
freedom  which  had  sprung  into  existence  at  the  im 
petuous,  glowing  iteration  of  the  mere  word  from  his 
aunt's  lips.  He  felt  its  charm  in  the  unaccustomed 
liberty  of  his  own  actions.  He  was  now  entirely  with 
out  claims  but  those  his  love  or  liking  voluntarily  as 
sumed.  No  one  older  than  himself  had  the  right  to 
reprove  or  direct  him.  He  had  at  last  come  to  his 
majority.  He  was  master  of  himself  and  his  fate. 

The  first  evidence  of  this  new  condition  was  a  dig 
nified  reticence  with  Barbara  Traill.  She  was  con 
scious  of  the  change  in  her  lodger.  She  felt  instinc 
tively  that  he  was  no  longer  a  child  to  be  questioned, 
and  there  was  a  tone  of  authority  in  his  refusal  to 
discuss  his  aunt  Sabiston  with  her  which  she  could 
not  but  respect.  Indeed,  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
speak  to  him  of  Mistress  Sabiston  as  Mistress  Sabiston 
deserved  to  be  spoken  of.  Her  first  censure  was 
checked  by  David's  air  of  disapproval  and  his  few 
words  of  apology : 

"  She  is,  however,  my  aunt ;  and  when  one  is  ninety 
years  old  it  is  a  good  excuse  for  many  faults." 

Matilda's  utter  refusal  of  his  kin  or  kindness  threw 
him  more  exclusively  upon  Nanna  and  her  child.  And 
as  all  his  efforts  to  discover  any  other  family  connec 
tions  were  quite  futile,  he  finally  came  to  believe  that 
they  three  were  the  last  of  a  family  that  had  once  filled 
the  lands  of  the  Norsemen  with  the  fame  of  their  great 
deeds.  Insensibly  this  thought  drew  the  bond  tighter 
and  closer,  though  an  instinct  as  pure  as  it  was  con 
ventional  taught  him  a  scrupulous  delicacy  with  re- 


116  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

gard  to  this  friendship.  Fortunately,  in  Shetland  the 
blood-tie  was  regarded  as  a  strong  enough  motive  for 
all  David's  attentions  to  a  woman  and  child  so  desolate 
and  helpless.  People  said  simply,  "  It  is  a  good  thing 
for  Nanna  Sinclair  that  her  cousin  has  come  to  Shet 
land."  And  it  did  not  enter  their  hearts  to  imagine 
an  evil  motive  for  kind  deeds  when  there  was  one  so 
natural  and  obligatory. 

So  Shetland  became  dear  and  pleasant  to  David,  and 
he  gradually  grew  into  great  favor.  The  minister 
made  much  of  the  young  man,  for  he  respected  his 
integrity  and  earnest  piety,  and  loved  him  for  that 
tenderness  and  clearness  of  conscience  which  was  sen 
sitive  to  the  first  approaches  of  wrong.  The  fishers 
and  sailors  of  the  town  gave  him  a  warm  admiration 
for  his  seamanship,  and  the  praise  David  had  looked 
for  at  the  beginning,  and  felt  disappointed  in  not  re 
ceiving,  was  now  given  him  by  a  kind  of  acclamation. 
Old  sailors,  telling  yarns  of  their  ships  and  the  queer, 
bold  things  their  ships  had  done,  generally  in  some 
way  climaxed  their  narratives  by  an  allusion  to  David 
Borson.  Thus,  Peter  Redlands,  talking  to  a  group  of 
fishers  one  day,  said : 

"Where  that  lad  learned  the  sea,  and  who  taught 
him  all  the  ways  of  it,  is  beyond  me ;  but  say  as  you 
will,  he  can  make  harbor  when  none  of  us  could  look 
at  it.  It  is  my  belief  David  Borson  can  stick  to  any 
thing  that  can  float." 

"  And  to  see  how  he  humors  a  boat,"  continued  Jan 
Wyck,  "you  would  think  she  was  made  out  of  flesh 
instead  of  out  of  three-inch  planks.  I  was  out  with 
him  near  the  Old  Man's  Rocks  last  week,  and  he  was 


KINDEED-THE  QUICK  AND   THE  DEAD       117 

watching  the  water ;  and  I  said,  '  What  is  it,  David  ? ' 
'  The  sea,'  he  said.  '  It  will  be  at  its  old  tricks  again 
in  an  hour  or  less.'  And  the  ( less '  was  right,  for  in 
fifteen  minutes  the  word  was,  '  Reef,  and  quick  about 
it ! '  and  then  you  know  what— the  rip  and  the  roar, 
and  the  boat  leaping  her  full  length.  But  David  did 
not  worry  a  jot.  He  coaxed  her  beautifully,  and  kept 
her  well  in  hand  j  and  she  shook  herself  a  little,  and 
then  away  like  a  gull  before  the  wind." 

He  was  just  as  popular  among  the  children  and 
women  of  Lerwick.  The  boys  made  an  idol  of  him, 
for  David  was  always  ready  to  give  them  a  sail,  or  lend 
them  his  fowling-piece,  or  help  them  to  rig  their  toy 
boats.  As  for  the  maidens,  the  prettiest  ones  in  Ler 
wick  had  a  shy  smile  for  David  Borson,  and  many 
wondered  that  such  a  beauty  as  Asta  Fae  should  smile 
on  him  in  vain  ;  but  David  had  taken  Nanna  and  Vala 
into  his  heart,  and  his  care  and  thought  for  them  were 
so  constant  that  there  was  no  room  for  any  other  in 
terest.  Yet  Barbara  often  talked  to  him  about  taking 
a  wife ;  and  even  the  minister,  doubtless  led  to  such 
advice  by  female  gossip  and  speculation,  thought  it 
well  to  speak  a  word  on  the  subject  to  him. 

"  You  know,  David,"  he  said,  "  there  are  good  girls 
and  beautiful  girls  that  look  kindly  on  you,  and  who 
wonder  that  your  smiles  are  so  cold  and  your  words 
so  few ;  and  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you  that  evil  may 
come  of  your  taking  so  much  thought  for  your  cousin 
and  her  child,  and  the  way  to  help  her  best  is  to  help 
her  through  your  own  wife." 

11 1  am  not  in  the  mind  to  marry,  minister,"  he  an 
swered.  "  There  is  no  one  girl  dearer  or  fairer  to  me 


118  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

than  another.     And  as  for  what  I  do  for  my  cousins, 

I  think  that  God  sent  me  to  do  it,  and  I  shall  not  be 
feared  to  make  accounting  to  him  for  it." 

"  That  is  my  belief  also,  David.  Yet  we  are  told  to 
avoid  the  very  appearance  of  evil ;  and  what  is  more, 
if  it  is  not  your  pleasure  to  marry,  it  is  your  duty ; 
and  how  will  you  win  past  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  it  to  be  my  duty,  minister." 

"  The  promise  is  in  the  line  of  the  righteous ;  the 
blessing  is  for  you  and  for  your  children ;  but  if  you 
have  no  wife  or  children,  then  is  the  promise  shortened 
and  the  blessing  cut  off.  I  think  that  you  should 
choose  some  good  woman's  daughter,  and  build  your 
self  a  home,  and  then  marry  a  wife." 

The  young  man  went  out  of  the  manse  with  this 
thought  in  his  heart.  And  not  far  off  he  met  pretty 
Asta  Fae,  and  he  spoke  to  her  and  walked  with  her  as 
far  as  she  was  going;  and  he  saw  that  she  had  the 
sweetest  of  blue  eyes,  and  that  her  smile  was  tender 
and  her  ways  gentle.  And  when  he  left  her  at  her 
father's  door,  he  held  her  hand  a  moment  and  said, 

II  It  has  been  a  pleasant  walk  to  me,  Asta."    And  she 
looked  frankly  into  his  face  and  answered  with  rosy 
blushes,  "  And  to  me  also,  David." 

There  was  a  warm  glow  at  his  heart  as  he  went 
across  the  moor  to  Nanna's;  and  he  resolved  to  tell 
his  cousin  what  the  minister  had  said,  and  ask  her 
advice  about  Asta  Fae ;  but  when  he  reached  Nanna's 
cot  she  was  sitting  on  the  hearth  with  Vala  upon  her 
knees,  and  telling  her  such  a  strange  story  that  David 
would  not  for  anything  lose  a  word  of  it.  And  as 
Nanna's  back  was  to  the  open  door  she  did  not  see 


KINDRED-THE  QUICK  AND   THE  DEAD       119 

David  enter,  but  went  on  with  her  tale,  in  the  high, 
monotonous  tone  of  one  telling  a  narrative  whose 
every  word  is  well  known  and  not  to  be  changed. 

"  You  see,  Vala,"  she  said,  touching  the  child's  fingers 
and  toes,  "  it  was  the  old  brown  bull  of  Norraway,  and 
he  had  a  sore  battle  with  the  deil,  and  he  carried  off 
a  great  princess ;  and  you  may  know  how  big  he  was, 
for  he  said  to  her,  '  Eat  out  of  my  left  ear,  and  drink 
out  of  my  right  ear,  and  put  by  the  leavings.'  And 
ay  they  rode,  and  on  they  rode,  till  they  came  to  a 
dark  and  awesome  glen,  and  there  the  bull  stopped 
and  the  lady  lighted  down.  And  the  bull  said  to  her : 
'  Here  you  must  stay  while  I  go  on  and  fight  the  deil. 
And  you  must  sit  here  on  that  stone,  and  move  not 
hand  or  foot  till  I  come  back,  or  else  I  '11  never  find 
you  again.  And  if  everything  round  about  you  turns 
blue,  I  shall  have  beaten  the  deil;  but  if  all  things 
turn  red,  then  the  deil  will  have  conquered  me.' " 

"And  so  he  left  her,  mammy,  to  go  and  fight  the  deil  f ' 

"  Ay,  he  did,  Vala ;  and  she  sat  still,  singing." 

"  Sing  me  the  lady's  song,  mammy." 

Then  Nanna  intoned  softly  the  strangest,  wildest 
little  tune.  It  was  like  a  Gregorian  chant,  and  had  but 
three  notes,  but  to  these  she  gave  a  marvelous  variety. 
David  listened  spellbound  to  the  entreating  voice : 

" '  Seven  long  years  I  served  for  thee, 
The  glassy  hill  I  clamb  for  thee, 
The  bloody  shirt  I  wrang  for  thee, 
And  wilt  thou  not  waken  and  come  to  me  ? ' 

But  I  'm  thinking  he  never  came  back  to  the  lady." 
"  Oh,  yes,  he  did,  mammy,"  said  Vala,  confidently. 


120  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Helga  Storr  told  me  he  came  back  a  fine  prince 
with  a  gold  crown  on  his  head,  and  the  deil  went 
away  empty  and  roaring  mad." 

"What  is  it  you  are  telling  about,  Nanna?"  said 
David,  his  face  eager  and  alight  with  interest. 

She  rose  up  then,  with  Vala  in  her  arms,  her  eyes 
shining  with  her  sweet,  motherly  story-telling.  "  It  is 
only  an  old  tale,  David,"  she  answered.  "  I  know  not 
who  made  it  up.  My  mother  told  it  to  me,  and  her 
mother  to  her,  and  so  back  through  years  that  none 
can  count.  Yes,  indeed;  what  little  child  does  not 
know  the  story  of  the  big  brown  bull  of  Norraway  ? " 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  before,"  said  David. 

"  To  be  sure ;  your  mother  did  not  live  to  talk  to 
you— poor  little  lad !  " 

"Now,  then,  Nanna,  tell  it  to  me  for  my  mother's 
sake."  And  he  sat  down  on  the  cricket  by  her  side, 
and  took  Vala  on  his  knee ;  and  Nanna  laughed,  and 
then,  with  the  little  formal  importance  of  the  reciter, 
said :  "  Well,  so  it  shall  be,  then.  Here  beginneth  the 
story  of  the  big  brown  bull  of  Norraway  and  his  fight 
with  the  deil."  And  the  old  tale  fell  from  her  lips 
full  of  charm,  and  David  listened  with  all  the  delight 
of  a  child.  And  when  it  had  been  twice  told,  Nanna 
began  to  talk  of  the  burnt  Njal  and  the  Icelandic 
sagas,  and  the  more  so  as  she  saw  David  was  full  of 
strange  wonder  and  delight,  and  that  every  word  was 
fresh  and  enthralling  to  him. 

"Yet  it  is  a  thing  to  be  wondered  at,"  she  said 
finally,  "that  you,  David,  know  not  these  old  histories 
better  than  I  do ;  for  I  have  often  heard  that  no  one 
in  all  the  islands  could  tell  a  story  so  well  as  Liot 


KINDRED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       121 

Borson.  Yes,  and  the  minister  once  said,  and  I  heard 
him,  that  he  would  walk  ten  miles  to  hear  from  your 
father's  lips  once  more  the  sad  happenings  of  his  an 
cestor,  the  brave,  helpful  Gisli." 

"This  is  a  great  thing  to  me,  Nanna,"  answered 
David,  in  a  voice  low  and  quiet,  for  he  was  feeling 
deeply.  "And  I  look  to  you  now  for  what  has 
never  been  told  me.  Who,  then,  was  my  ancestor 
Gisli?" 

"  If  your  father  held  his  peace  about  him,  he  surely 
thought  it  best  to  do  so,  and  so  ask  me  not  to  break  a 
good  resolve." 

"  Nay,  but  I  must  ask  you.  My  heart  burns ;  I  feel 
that  there  is  a  life  behind  me  into  which  I  must  look. 
Help  me,  Nanna.  And,  more,  the  name  Gisli  went  to 
my  head.  It  is  not  like  other  strange  names.  I  love 
this  man  whom  I  have  not  seen  and  never  heard  of 
until  this  hour.  What  has  he  to  do  with  me  ? " 

"  He  was  one  of  us.  And  because  he  was  so  good  and 
great  the  thrall's  curse  fell  the  harder  on  him,  and  was 
the  more  regarded— hard  enough  it  has  been  on  all  the 
Borsons ;  and  perhaps  your  father  thought  it  was  well 
you  heard  not  of  it.  Many  a  time  and  oft  I  have 
wished  it  had  not  entered  my  ears;  for  when  one 
sorrow  called  to  another  sorrow,  and  one  wrong  trod 
on  the  heels  of  another  wrong,  I  have  been  angry  at 
the  false,  ungrateful  man  who  brought  such  ill  fortune 
upon  his  unborn  generations." 

"Now  you  make  me  so  anxious  and  wilful  that 
nothing  but  the  story  of  the  thrall's  curse  will  do  for 
me.  I  shall  not  eat  or  sleep  till  I  hear  it." 

"'T  is  a  tale  of  dishonor  and  unthankfulness,  and 


122  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

not  so  well  known  to  me  as  to  Jorn  Thorkel.  He  can 
tell  it  all,  and  will  gladly  do  so." 

"  But  for  all  that,  I  will  hear  it  from  you,  Nanna, 
and  you  only,  for  it  concerns  us  only.  Tell  me  what 
you  know,  and  the  rest  can  wait  for  Jorn." 

"  So,  then,  you  will  have  it ;  but  if  ill  comes  of  the 
knowledge  do  not  blame  me.  It  began  in  the  days  of 
Harold  Fairhair,  one  thousand  years  ago.  There  was 
a  Gisli  then,  and  he  had  a  quarrel  with  a  berserker 
called  Bjorn,  and  they  agreed  to  fight  until  one  was 
dead.  And  the  woman  who  loved  Gisli  told  him  that 
her  foster-father,  Kol,  who  was  a  thrall,  had  a  sword 
that  whoever  wielded  would  win  in  any  fight.  And 
Gisli  sent  for  Kol  and  asked  him : 

" '  Hast  thou  ever  a  good  sword  ? ' 

"And  Kol  answered:  'Many  things  are  in  the 
thrall's  cot,  not  in  the  king's  grange.' 

" '  Lend  me  thy  sword  for  my  duel  with  Bjorn/  said 
Gisli. 

"  And  Kol  said :  '  Then  this  thing  will  happen :  thou 
wilt  never  wish  to  give  it  up.  And  yet  I  tell  thee,  this 
sword  will  bite  whatever  it  falls  on,  nor  can  its  edge 
be  deadened  by  spells,  for  it  was  forged  by  the  dwarfs, 
and  its  name  is  Graysteel.  And  make  up  thy  mind/ 
he  said,  '  that  I  will  take  it  very  ill  indeed  if  I  get  not 
my  sword  back  when  I  ask  for  it.' 

"  So  Gisli  took  the  sword  and  slew  Bjorn  with  it, 
and  got  good  fame  for  this  feat.  And  time  rolled  on, 
and  he  gave  not  back  the  sword ;  and  one  day  Kol  met 
him,  and  Gisli  had  Graysteel  in  his  hand,  and  Kol  had 
an  ax. 

"And  Kol  asked  if  the  sword  had  done  him  good 


KINDRED-THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD       123 

service  at  his  great  need,  and  Gisli  was  full  of  its 
praises. 

" '  Well,  now/  said  Kol,  '  I  should  like  it  back.' 

" <  SeU  it  to  me/  said  Gisli. 

"  <  No/  said  Kol. 

" '  I  will  give  thee  thy  freedom  for  it/  said  Gisli. 

"  1 1  will  not  sell  it/  said  Kol. 

" l  I  will  also  give  thee  land  and  sheep  and  cattle  and 
goods  as  much  as  thou  wantest/  said  Gisli. 

" '  I  will  not  sell  it  a  whit  more  for  that/  said  Kol. 

" '  Put  thy  own  price  on  it  in  money,  and  I  will  get 
thee  a  fair  wife  also/  said  Gisli. 

" '  There  is  no  use  talking  about  it/  said  Kol.  '  I 
will  not  sell  it,  whatsoever  thou  offerest.  It  has  come 
to  what  I  said  would  happen :  that  thou  wouldst  not 
give  me  back  my  weapon  when  thou  knewest  what  vir 
tue  was  in  it.' 

"  'And  I  too  will  say  what  will  happen/  said  Gisli. 
'  Good  will  befall  neither  of  us ;  for  I  will  not  give  up 
the  sword,  and  it  shall  never  come  into  any  man's  hand 
but  mine,  if  I  have  my  will.' 

"  Then  Kol  lifted  his  ax,  and  Gisli  drew  Graysteel, 
and  they  smote  at  each  other.  Kol's  blow  fell  on 
Gisli's  head,  so  that  it  sank  into  the  brain ;  and  Gray- 
steel  fell  on  Kol's  head,  and  his  skull  was  shattered, 
and  Graysteel  broke  asunder.  Then,  as  Kol  gave  up 
the  ghost,  he  said : 

" '  It  had  been  better  that  thou  hadst  given  me  my 
sword  when  I  asked  for  it,  for  this  is  only  the  begin 
ning  of  the  ill  fortune  I  will  bring  on  thy  kith  and  kin 
forever.' 

"  And  so  it  has  been.    For  a  thousand  years  the  tell- 


124  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

ings-up  of  our  family  are  full  of  troubles  that  this 
thrall's  curse  has  brought  upon  us.  Few  of  our  men 
have  grown  gray-headed ;  in  the  sea  and  on  the  battle 
field  they  have  found  their  graves ;  and  the  women  have 
had  sorrow  in  marriage  and  death  in  child-bearing." 

"  It  was  an  evil  deed,"  said  David. 

"It  was  a  great  curse  for  it  also;  one  thousand 
years  it  has  followed  Gisli's  children." 

"  Not  so !  I  believe  it  not !  Neither  the  dead  nor  the 
living  can  curse  those  whom  God  blesses." 

"  Yet  always  the  Borsons  have  had  the  worst  of  ill 
fortune.  We  three  only  are  now  left  of  the  great  earls 
who  ruled  in  Surnadale  and  in  Fjardarfolk,  and  see 
how  poor  and  sorrowful  we  are.  My  life  has  been 
woven  out  of  grief  and  disappointment;  Vala  will 
never  walk ;  and  as  for  your  own  youth,  was  it  not 
labor  and  sorrow  only  ? " 

"  I  believe  not  in  any  such  spaedom.  I  believe  in 
God  the  Father  Almighty,  and  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  in 
the  Holy  Ghost.  And  as  for  the  cursing  of  man,  dead 
or  alive,  I  will  not  fear  what  it  can  do  to  me.  Gisli 
was  indeed  well  served  for  his  mean,  ungrateful  deed, 
and  it  would  have  been  better  if  the  berserker  Bjorn 
had  cut  his  false  heart  out  of  him." 

"  Such  talk  is  not  like  you,  David.  I  can  see  now 
that  your  father  did  right  to  keep  these  bloody  stories 
from  your  hearing.  There  is  no  help  in  them." 

"Well,  I  know  not  that.  This  night  the  minister 
was  talking  to  me  about  taking  a  wife.  If  there  be 
truth  or  power  in  Kol's  curse,  why  should  any  Borson 
be  born,  that  he  or  she  may  bear  his  spite?  Noj  I 
will  not  marry,  and—" 


KINDRED-THE   QUICK  AND   THE  DEAD       125 

"  In  saying  that  you  mock  your  own  words.  Where, 
then,  is  your  trust  in  God?  And  the  minister  is 
right ;  you  ought  to  take  a  wife.  People  think  wrong 
of  a  young  man  who  cannot  fix  his  heart  on  one  good 
woman.  There  is  Christina  Hey.  Speak  to  her. 
Christina  is  sweet  and  wise,  and  will  make  a  good 
wife." 

"  I  met  Asta  Fae  as  I  came  here.  Very  pretty  in 
deed  is  her  face,  and  she  has  a  way  to  win  any  heart." 

"  For  all  that,  I  do  not  think  well  of  Asta.  She  is 
at  the  dance  whenever  there  is  one,  and  she  has  more 
lovers  than  a  girl  should  have." 

"Christina  has  land  and  money.  I  care  not  for 
a  wife  who  is  richer  than  myself." 

"Her  money  is  nothing  against  her;  it  will  be  a 
help." 

"I  know  not,"  he  answered,  but  without  interest. 
"You  have  given  me  something  to  think  of  that  is 
better  than  wooing  and  wedding,  Nanna.  My  heart 
is  quite  full.  I  am  more  of  a  man  than  I  have  ever 
been.  I  can  feel  this  hour  that  there  is  life  behind  me 
as  well  as  before  me.  But  I  will  go  now,  for  to-mor 
row  is  the  Sabbath  and  we  shall  meet  at  the  kirk ;  and 
I  will  carry  Vala  home  for  you  if  you  say  so,  Nanna." 

"  Well,  then,"  she  answered,  "  to-morrow  is  not  here, 
David ;  but  it  will  come,  by  G-od's  leave.  I  dreamed 
a  dream  last  night,  and  I  look  for  a  change,  cousin. 
But  this  or  that,  my  desire  is  that  God  would  choose 
for  me." 

"  That  also  is  my  desire,"  said  David,  solemnly. 

"As  for  me,  I  have  fallen  into  a  great  strait;  only 
God  can  help  me." 


126  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

She  was  standing  on  the  hearth,  looking  down  at 
Vala.  Tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  a  divine  pity  and 
sorrow  made  tender  and  gentle  her  majestic  beauty. 
David  looked  steadily  at  her,  and  something,  he  knew 
not  what,  seemed  to  pierce  his  very  soul— a  sweet, 
aching  pain,  never  felt  before,  inexplicable,  ineffable, 
and  as  innocent  as  the  first  holy  adoration  of  a  little 
child.  Then  he  went  out  into  the  still,  starry  night, 
and  tried  to  think  of  Christina  Hey ;  but  she  constantly 
slipped  from  his  consciousness,  like  a  dream  that  has 
no  message. 


VII 

SO   FAE  AND  NO  FARTHER 

'AVID  BORSON  was  stirred  to  the  very 
seat  of  life  by  the  things  Nanna  had  told 
him.  It  did  not  enter  his  heart  to  doubt 
their  truth.  The  shameful  deed  of  the 
first  G-isli,  and  the  still  strong  order  of 
its  consequences,  which  neither  the  guilt  of  his  chil 
dren  hastened,  nor  their  innocence  delayed,  nor  their 
expiation  arrested,  was  the  dominant  feeling  aroused 
by  her  narrative.  The  whole  story,  with  its  terrible 
Nemesis,  fitted  admirably  into  the  system  of  Calvin- 
istic  theology,  and  David  had  not  yet  come  to  the 
hour  in  which  faith  would  crush  down  fatalism.  The 
words  of  these  ancient  sagas  went  singing  and  swing 
ing  through  his  brain  and  heart,  and  life  seemed  so 
wonderful  and  bewildering,  its  sorrows  so  great  and 
certain,  its  needs  so  urgent  and  present,  and  heaven, 
alas !  so  far  off. 

There  came  to  him  also,  as  he  slowly  trod  the  lonely 
moor,  the  most  awful  of  all  conceptions  of  eternity— 
the  revelation  of  a  repentance  that  could  undo  nothing. 
He  was  righteously  angry  at  Gisli's  base  ingratitude ; 

127 


128  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

he  was  sorry  for  his  sin ;  but  others  had  doubtless  felt 
the  same  anger  and  sorrow,  and  it  had  been  ineffectual. 
Helpless  and  passive  in  the  hands  of  destiny,  a  name 
less  dread,  an  urgent  want  of  help  and  comfort,  forced 
him  to  feel  out  into  the  abyss  for  something  more  than 
flesh  and  blood  to  lean  on;  and  then  he  found  that 
God  is  best  of  all  approached  in  indefinite  awe  and 
worship,  and  that  moments  of  tender,  vague  mystery, 
haunted  by  uncertain  presentiments,  bring  him  near. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said  as  he  came  to  the  door  of  his 
house,  "  the  wicked  may  be  a  rod,  and  smite  for  gen 
erations  ;  but  the  rod  is  in  the  hand  of  God,  and  I  will  re 
mind  myself  that  my  God  is  the  Everlasting,  Almighty, 
Infinite  One ;  and  I  will  ask  him  to  give  sentence  with 
me,  and  to  deliver  me  from  the  wicked,  whether  they 
be  in  the  body  or  out  of  the  body."  And  he  walked 
through  the  house-place  where  Barbara  was  sitting, 
and  saw  her  not ;  for  he  was  saying  to  himself,  " '  Why 
art  thou  so  vexed,  O  my  soul  ?  and  why  art  thou  dis 
quieted  within  me  ?  O  put  thy  trust  in  God :  for  I 
will  yet  give  him  thanks,  which  is  the  help  of  my 
countenance,  and  my  God.' " 

Nanna  sat  motionless  for  long  after  David  left  her. 
She  had  many  causes  for  anxiety.  She  was  fearful  of 
losing  her  work,  and  absolute  poverty  would  then  be 
her  lot.  It  was  a  fear,  however,  and  not  a  certainty ; 
and  after  a  little  reflection  she  also  threw  her  care 
upon  the  Preserver  of  men.  "  Be  at  peace,"  she  said 
to  her  heart.  "God  feeds  the  gulls  and  the  ravens, 
and  he  will  not  starve  Nanna  and  Vala." 

It  was  harder  to  combat  her  spiritual  anxieties.  She 
was  sorry  she  had  told  David  about  the  thrall's  curse. 


SO  FAR  AND  NO  FAETHEE  129 

Her  first  instinct  was  to  ask  his  father  and  mother  to 
forgive  her ;  then  she  suddenly  remembered  that  pray 
ing  to  or  for  the  dead  was  a  sin  for  a  kirk  session  to 
meet  on.  And  this  thought  led  her  easily  to  the  dream 
that  had  troubled  her  last  night's  sleep  and  made  her 
day  dark  with  sorrowful  fears.  All  her  life  she  had 
possessed  something  of  that  sixth  sense  by  which  we 
see  and  anticipate  things  invisible.  And  it  is  notice 
able  that  many  cripples  have  often  a  seraphic  intelli 
gence,  a  far-reaching  vision,  and  very  sensitive  spiritual 
aptitudes.  Vala  was  of  this  order.  She  too  had  been 
singularly  depressed;  she  had  seen  more  than  she 
could  tell ;  she  was  as  restless  and  melancholy  as  birds 
just  before  their  migrations,  and  she  looked  at  her 
mother  with  eyes  so  wistful,  so  full  of  inquiry,  so  "  far 
off,"  that  Nanna  trembled  under  their  fearfully  pre 
scient  intimations.  Alas  for  the  dangerous  happiness 
of  maternity !  How  prodigious  are  its  inquietudes ! 
How  uncertain  its  consolations ! 

She  told  David  that  she  had  dreamed  a  dream,  and 
that  she  looked  for  a  change ;  and  she  had  made  this 
statement  as  simply  and  as  confidently  as  if  she  had 
said,  "  The  wind  is  from  the  north,  and  I  look  for  a 
storm."  Repeated  experiences  had  taught  her,  as  they 
teach  constantly,  that  certain  signs  precede  certain 
events,  and  that  certain  dreams  are  dictated  by  that 
delicate  antenna  of  spiritual  instinct  which  feels  dan 
ger  to  be  near  and  warns  of  it. 

Nanna  had  had  the  dream  that  ever  forecast  her 
misfortunes,  and  she  sat  thinking  of  its  vague  intima 
tions,  and  tightening  her  heart  for  any  sorrow.  She 
had  been  forewarned  that  she  might  be  forearmed, 


130  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  she  regarded  this  warning  as  a  mark  of  interest 
and  favor  from  beyond  the  veil.  God  had  always 
spoken  to  his  children  in  dreams  and  by  the  oracles 
that  abide  in  darkness,  and  Nanna  knew  that  in  many 
ways  "  dreams  are  large  possessions."  She  fell  asleep 
pondering  what  her  vision  of  the  preceding  night  might 
mean,  and  awoke  next  morning,  while  it  was  still  dark, 
with  a  dim  sense  of  fear  and  sorrow  encompassing 
her. 

"  But  everything  frightens  one  when  night,  the  un 
known,  takes  the  light  away,"  she  thought.  And  she 
rose  and  lighted  a  lamp,  and  looked  at  Vala.  The 
child  was  in  a  deep  and  healthy  slumber,  and  the  sight 
of  its  face  calmed  and  satisfied  her.  Yet  she  was 
strangely  apprehensive,  and  there  was  a  weight  on  her 
heart  that  made  her  faint  and  trembling.  She  knew 
right  well  that  some  hitherto  unknown  sorrow  was 
creeping  like  a  mist  over  her  life,  and  she  had  not  yet 
the  strength  and  the  pang  of  conflict. 

Have  we  not  too?    Yes,  we  have 
Answers,  and  we  know  not  whence ; 

Echoes  from  beyond  the  grave, 
Recognized  intelligence. 

Yet  the  secret  silence  of  the  night,  the  vague  terror 
and  darkness  of  that  occult  world  which  we  all  carry 
with  us,  created  in  her,  at  first,  fear,  and  then  a  kind 
of  angry,  desperate  resentment. 

"  Oh,  how  helpless  I  am !  "  she  sighed.  "  I  can  think 
and  feel,  I  can  fear  and  love,  and  I  am  not  here  by  my 
own  will ;  I  did  not  place  myself  here ;  I  cannot  keep 
myself  here.  My  life  is  in  the  grasp  of  a  Power  I 


SO  FAE  AND  NO  FARTHER  131 

cannot  control.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ? 
Oh,  how  miserable  I  am !  All  my  life  long  I  have  seen 
'  Not  for  you '  written  on  all  I  wished.  Life  is  very 
hard,"  she  said  with  a  little  sob.  And  then  she  made 
no  further  complaint,  but  her  heart  grew  so  still,  she 
was  sure  something  must  have  died  there.  Alas !  was 
it  hope  ? 

"Life  is  very  hard."  With  these  words  she  lay 
down  again,  and  between  sleeping  and  waking  the 
hours  wore  on,  and  she  rose  at  last  from  her  shivery 
sleep,  even  later  than  usual.  Then  she  hurried  break 
fast  a  little,  and  as  the  light  grew  over  land  and  sea 
she  tidied  her  room  and  dressed  Vala  and  herself  for 
the  kirk.  As  the  sound  of  the  first  service  bell  traveled 
solemnly  over  the  moor  she  was  ready  to  leave  the 
house.  Her  last  duty  was  to  put  a  peat  or  two  upon 
the  fire,  and  as  she  was  doing  this  she  heard  some 
one  lift  the  sneck  and  push  open  the  door. 

"  It  is  David  to  carry  Vala,"  she  thought.  "  How 
good  he  is !  " 

But  when  she  turned  she  saw  that  it  was  not  Da 
vid.  It  was  her  husband,  Nicol  Sinclair.  He  walked 
straight  to  the  fireside,  and  sat  down  without  a  word. 
Nanna's  heart  sank  to  its  lowest  depths,  and  a  cold 
despair  made  her  feet  and  hands  heavy  as  lead ;  but 
she  slowly  spread  the  cloth  on  the  table,  and  bit  by 
bit  managed  to  recollect  the  cup  and  saucer,  the  bar 
ley-cake,  the  smoked  goose,  and  the  tea. 

There  was  a  terrible  account  between  the  man  sit 
ting  on  the  hearth  and  herself,  and  words  of  passion 
ate  reproach  burned  at  her  lips ;  but  she  held  her  peace. 
Long  ago  she  had  left  her  cause  with  God ;  he  would 


132  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

plead  it  thoroughly.  Even  now,  when  her  enemy 
was  before  her,  she  had  no  thought  of  any  other  ad 
vocate. 

Her  pallor,  her  slow  movements,  her  absolute  dumb 
ness,  roused  in  Sinclair  an  angry  discomfort.  And 
when  Vala  made  a  movement  he  lifted  her  roughly, 
and  with  a  brutal  laugh  said,  "  A  nice  plaything  you 
will  be  on  board  the  Sea  Rover  !  " 

Nanna  shivered  at  the  words.  She  comprehended 
in  a  moment  the  torture  this  man  had  probably  come 
purposely  to  inflict  upon  her.  Already  his  cruel  hands 
had  crippled  her  child ;  and  what  neglect,  what  terrors, 
what  active  barbarities,  might  he  not  impose  on  the 
little  one  in  the  hell  of  his  own  ship !  Who  there 
could  prevent  him  ?  Little  did  Nicol  Sinclair  care  for 
public  opinion  on  land ;  but  out  at  sea,  where  Vala's 
tears  and  cries  could  bring  her  no  help,  what  pitiless 
inhumanities  might  he  not  practise  ? 

"Fly  with  the  child!" 

The  words  were  struck  upon  her  heart  like  blows. 
But  how  should  she  fly  ?  and  where  to  ?  Far  or  near, 
the  law  would  find  her  out  and  would  give  Vala  to  her 
father's  authority.  And  she  had  no  friend  strong 
enough  to  protect  her.  Only  by  death  could  she  defy 
separation.  Thus,  while  she  was  pouring  the  boiling 
water  on  the  tea-leaves,  she  was  revolving  questions 
more  agonizing  than  words  have  power  to  picture. 

At  length  the  food  was  on  the  table,  and,  save  for 
those  few  threatening  words,  the  silence  was  unbroken. 
Sinclair  sat  down  to  his  meal  with  a  bravado  very 
near  to  cursing,  and  at  that  moment  the  kirk  bells 
began  to  ring  again.  To  Nanna  they  were  like  a  voice 


SO  FAR  AND  NO  FARTHER  135 

from  heaven.  Quick  as  thought  she  lifted  her  child 
and  fled  from  the  house. 

Oh,  what  stress  of  life  and  death  was  in  her  foot 
steps  !  Only  to  reach  the  kirk !  If  she  could  do  that, 
she  would  cling  to  the  altar  and  die  there  rather  than 
surrender  Vala  to  unknown  miseries.  Love  and  ter 
ror  gave  her  wings.  She  did  not  turn  her  head ;  she 
did  not  feel  the  frozen  earth  or  the  cutting  east  wind ; 
she  saw  nothing  but  Vala's  small  face  on  her  breast, 
and  she  heard  nothing  but  the  echo  in  her  heart  of 
those  terrible  words  threatening  her  with  the  loss  of 
her  child. 

When  she  reached  the  kirk  the  service  had  begun. 
The  minister  was  praying.  She  went  into  the  nearest 
pew,  and  though  all  were  standing,  she  laid  Vala  on 
the  seat,  and  slipped  to  her  knees  beside  her.  She 
could  not  now  cry  out  as  she  longed  to  do,  and  sob 
her  fright  and  anguish  away  at  God's  feet.  "Folk 
would  wonder  at  me.  I  would  disturb  the  service." 
These  were  her  thoughts  as  soon  as  the  pressure  of 
her  flight  was  over.  For  the  solemn  voice  of  the 
minister  praying,  the  strength  of  numbers,  the  holy 
influence  of  the  time  and  place,  cooled  her  passionate 
sense  of  wrong  and  danger,  and  she  was  even  a  little 
troubled  at  her  abandonment  of  what  was  usual  and 
Sabbath-like. 

The  altar  now  looked  a  long  way  off ;  only  Sinclair 
at  touch  could  have  forced  her  down  that  guarded 
aisle  to  its  shelter.  Heaven  itself  was  nearer,  and 
God  needed  no  explanations.  He  knew  all.  What 
was  the  law  of  man  to  him !  And  he  feared  not  their 
disapproval.  Thus  in  her  great  strait  she  overleaped 


136  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

her  creed,  and  cast  herself  on  him  who  is  "  a  God  of 
the  afflicted,  an  helper  of  the  oppressed,  an  upholder 
of  the  weak,  a  protector  of  the  forlorn,  a  savior  of 
them  that  are  without  hope." 

When  the  preaching  was  over  David  and  Barbara 
came  to  her ;  and  David  knit  his  brows  when  he  saw 
her  face,  for  it  was  the  face  of  a  woman  who  had  seen 
something  dreadful.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  fear  and 
anguish,  and  she  was  yet  white  and  trembling  with 
the  exertion  of  her  hard  flight. 

"  Nanna,"  he  said,  "  what  has  happened  ? " 

"  My  husband  has  come  back." 

"  I  heard  last  night  that  his  ship  was  in  harbor." 

"  He  has  come  for  Vala.  He  will  take  her  from  me. 
She  will  die  of  neglect  and  hard  usage.  He  may  give 
her  to  some  stranger  who  will  be  cross  to  her.  O 
David !  David !  " 

"  He  shall  not  touch  her." 

"  O  David ! " 

" Put  her  in  my  arms  now" 

"  Do  you  mean  this  ? " 

"  I  do." 

"  Can  I  trust  you,  David  ? " 

"  You  may  put  it  to  any  proof." 

"  Pass  your  word  to  me,  cousin." 

"As  the  Lord  God  Almighty  lives,  I  will  put  my 
lif  e  between  Vala  and  Nicol  Sinclair ! " 

"But  how?" 

"  I  will  take  her  to  sea  if  necessary,  for  my  boat  can 
go  where  few  will  dare  to  follow." 

Then  he  turned  to  Barbara  and  said :  "  Nicol  Sinclair 
has  indeed  come  back.  He  says  he  has  come  for  Vala." 


SO  FAR  AND  NO  FARTHER  139 

"  Then  the  devil  has  led  him  here,"  answered  Bar 
bara,  flashing  into  anger.  "  As  for  Vala,  let  her  stay 
with  me.  She  has  a  good  guard  at  my  house.  There 
is  Groat  and  his  four  sons  on  one  side,  and  Jeppe 
Madson  and  his  big  brother  Har  on  the  other  side ; 
and  there  is  David  Borson,  who  is  worth  a  whole  ship's 
crew,  to  back  them  in  anything  for  Vala's  safety. 
Stay  with  me  to-day,  Nanna,  and  we  will  talk  this 
matter  out." 

But  Nanna  shook  her  head  in  reply.  As  she  under 
stood  it,  duty  was  no  peradventure ;  it  was  an  absolute 
thing  from  which  there  was  no  turning  away.  And 
her  duty  was  to  be  at  home  when  her  husband  was 
there.  But  she  put  Vala's  hand  into  David's  hand, 
and  then  looked  at  the  young  man  with  eyes  full  of 
anxiety.  He  answered  the  look  with  one  strong  word : 

"  Yes ! " 

And  she  knew  he  would  redeem  it  with  his  life,  if 
that  should  be  necessary. 

Then  she  turned  homeward,  and  walked  with  a 
direct  and  rapid  energy.  She  put  away  thought ;  she 
formed  no  plan,  she  said  no  prayer.  Her  petition  had 
been  made  in  the  kirk ;  she  thought  there  would  be  a 
want  of  faith  in  repeating  a  request  already  promised. 
She  felt  even  the  modesty  of  a  suppliant,  and  would 
not  continually  press  into  the  presence  of  the  Highest ; 
for  to  the  reverent  there  is  ever  the  veil  before  the 
Shechinah. 

And  this  conscious  putting  aside  of  all  emotion 
strengthened  her.  When  she  saw  her  home  she  had 
no  need  to  slacken  her  speed  or  to  encourage  herself. 
She  walked  directly  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  There 


140  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

was  no  one  there ;  the  place  was  empty.  The  food  on 
the  table  was  untouched.  Nothing  but  a  soiled  and 
crumpled  handkerchief  remained  of  the  dreadful  visi 
tor.  She  lifted  it  with  the  tongs  and  cast  it  into  the 
fire.  Then  she  cleared  away  every  trace  of  the  rejected 
meal. 

Afterward  she  made  some  inquiries  in  the  adjoining 
huts.  One  woman  only  had  seen  his  departure.  "  I 
could  not  go  to  kirk  this  morning,"  she  said  with  an 
air  of  apology,  "  for  my  bairn  is  very  sick ;  and  I  saw 
Nicol  Sinclair  go  away.  It  was  near  the  noon  hour. 
Drunk  he  was,  and  worse  drunk  than  most  men  can 
be.  His  face  was  red  as  a  hot  peat,  and  he  swayed  to 
and  fro  like  a  boat  on  the  Gruting  Voe.  There  was 
something  no'  just  right  about  the  man." 

That  was  all  she  could  learn,  and  she  was  very  un 
happy,  for  she  could  imagine  no  good  reason  for  his 
departure.  In  some  way  or  other  he  was  preparing 
the  blow  he  meant  to  deal  her ;  and  though  it  was  the 
Sabbath,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  men 
whom  he  could  influence.  And  there  was  also  his 
cousin  Matilda  Sabiston,  that  wicked  old  woman  who 
had  outlived  all  human  passions  but  hatred.  Against 
this  man  and  the  money  and  ill-will  that  would  back 
him  she  could  do  nothing,  but  she  "trusted  in  God 
that  he  would  deliver  her." 

So  she  said  to  herself,  "Patience";  and  she  sat 
down  to  wait,  shutting  her  eyes  to  the  outside  world, 
and  drawing  to  a  focus  all  the  strength  that  was  in 
her.  The  closed  Bible  lay  on  the  table  beside  her,  and 
occasionally  she  touched  it  with  her  hand.  She  had 
not  been  able  to  read  it;  but  there  was  comfort  in 


SO  FAR  AND  NO  FARTHER  141 

seeing  the  old,  homely-looking  book,  with  its  every 
day  aspect  and  its  pages  full  of  kindly  blessing,  and 
still  more  comfort  in  putting  herself  in  physical  con 
tact  with  its  promises.  They  seemed  to  be  more  real. 
And  as  she  sat  hour  after  hour,  psalms  learned  years 
before,  and  read  many  and  many  a  time  without  ap 
prehension  of  their  meaning,  began  to  speak  to  her. 
She  saw  the  words  with  her  spiritual  sight,  and  they 
shone  with  their  own  glory.  And  she  obtained  what 
she  so  sorely  needed : 

A  little  comforting  shadow 

From  the  hot  sun's  fiery  glow ; 
A  little  rest  by  the  fountain 

Where  the  waters  of  comfort  flow. 

When  midnight  struck  she  looked  at  the  clock  and 
thanked  God.  Surely  she  was  safe  for  that  night; 
and  she  turned  the  key  in  her  door  and  went  to  sleep. 
And  her  sleep  was  that  which  God  giveth  to  his  be 
loved  when  they  are  to  be  strengthened  for  many  days 
—a  deep,  dreamless  suspense  of  all  thought  and  feel 
ing. 

Yet,  heavenly  as  the  sleep  had  been,  the  awakening 
was  a  shock.  And  as  the  day  grew  toward  noon  she 
was  as  much  troubled  by  the  silence  of  events  as  her 
husband  had  been  by  the  silence  of  her  lips.  Human 
hearts  are  nests  of  fear.  Her  whole  soul  kept  going 
to  the  window,  and  she  said,  with  the  impatience  of 
suspended  suffering,  "Now!  now!  I  have  no  forti 
tude  for  to-morrow,  but  I  can  bear  anything  now." 
Finally  she  resolved  to  go  to  Barbara's,  and  see  Vala, 
and  hear  whatever  there  was  to  hear.  But  as  she 


142  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

was  putting  on  her  cloak  she  saw  David  coming  over 
the  moor,  and  he  was  carrying  Vala  in  his  arms. 

"  So,"  she  said,  "  I  see  that  I  will  not  need  to  run  after 
my  fate  5  it  will  come  to  me ;  and  there  will  be  no  use 
striving  against  it.  For  what  must  be  is  sure  to  happen." 

Then  she  turned  back  into  the  house,  and  David 
followed  with  unusual  solemnity,  and  laid  Vala  upon 
her  bed.  "She  is  sleeping,"  he  said,  "and  there  is 
something  to  tell  you,  Nanna." 

"  About  my  husband  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Say  it  out  at  once,  then." 

"  Last  night  he  was  carried  to  his  own  ship."  And 
David's  face  was  grave  almost  to  sternness. 

"  Carried !     Have  you  then  hurt  him,  David  ? " 

"  No ;  he  is  a  self-hurter.  But  this  is  what  I  know. 
He  went  from  here  to  Matilda  Sabiston's  house.  She 
had  gone  to  kirk  with  two  of  her  servants,  and  when 
she  came  back  she  found  him  delirious  on  the  sofa. 
Then  the  doctor  was  sent  for,  and  when  he  said  the 
word  l  typhus/  Matilda  shrieked  with  passion,  and  de 
manded  that  he  should  be  instantly  taken  away." 

"  But  no !     Surely  not !  " 

"  Yes ;  it  was  so.  Both  the  minister  and  the  doctor 
said  it  was  right  and  best  for  him  to  be  taken  to  his 
own  ship.  The  town— yes,  indeed,  and  the  whole 
islands  were  in  danger.  And  when  they  took  him  on 
board  the  Sea  Rover,  they  found  that  two  of  the  sailors 
were  also  very  ill  with  the  fever.  They  had  been  ill 
for  a  week,  and  Sinclair  knew  it ;  yet  he  came  among 
the  boats,  and  went  through  the  town,  speaking  to 
many  people.  It  was  a  wicked  thing  for  him  to  do." 


SO  FAK  AND  NO  FARTHER  143 

"  It  was  just  like  him.  Where  is  the  Sea  Rover  now 
lying?" 

11  She  has  been  taken  to  the  South  Voe.  The  fishing- 
boats  will  watch  lest  the  men  are  landed,  and  the 
doctor  will  go  to  the  ship  every  day  the  sea  will  let 
him  go." 

"  David,  is  it  my  duty—" 

"No,  it  is  not;  there  are  five  men  with  Sinclair. 
Three  of  them  are,  I  believe,  yet  well  men,  and  three 
can  care  for  the  sick  and  the  ship.  On  the  deck  of  the 
Sea  Rover  a  woman  should  not  put  her  foot." 

11  But  a  ship  with  typhus  on  board?" 

"  Is  a  hell  indeed !  In  this  case,  Nanna,  it  is  a  hell 
of  their  own  making.  They  got  the  fever  in  a  dance- 
house  at  Rotterdam.  Sinclair  knew  of  its  presence, 
and  laughed  it  to  scorn.  It  was  his  mate  who  told 
the  doctor  so.  Also,  Nanna,  there  is  Vala." 

She  went  swiftly  to  the  side  of  the  sleeping  child, 
and  she  was  sure  there  was  a  change  in  her.  David 
would  not  acknowledge  it,  but  in  forty-eight  hours  the 
signs  of  the  fatal  scourge  were  unmistakable.  Then 
Nanna's  house  was  marked  and  isolated,  and  she  sat 
down  to  watch  her  dying  child. 


VIII 

THE  JUSTIFICATION   OF   DEATH 

'URING  the  awful  days  of  Vala's  dying 
no  one  came  near  Nanna.  She  watched 
her  child  night  and  day,  and  saw  it  go 
out  into  the  darkness  that  girds  our 
life  around,  in  unutterable  desolation  of 
soul.  From  the  first  Vala  was  unconscious,  and  she 
went  away  without  a  word  or  token  of  comfort  to  the 
despairing  mother.  There  was  unspeakable  suffering 
and  decay,  and  then  the  little  breathing-house  in  which 
Vala  had  sojourned  a  short  space  was  suddenly  vacant. 
For  a  moment  Nanna  stood  on  the  border-lands  of 
being,  where  life  hardly  draws  breath.  A  little  more, 
and  she  would  have  pushed  apart  the  curtains  that 
divide  us  from  that  spiritual  world  which  lies  so  close 
and  which  may  claim  us  at  any  moment.  A  little  more, 
and  she  would,  in  her  loving  agony,  have  pressed 
beyond  manifestations  to  that  which  is  ineffable  and 
nameless. 

But  at  the  last  moment  the  flesh-and-blood  con 
ductor  of  spirit  failed;  a  great  weakness  and  weari 
ness  made  her  passive  under  the  storm  of  sorrow  that 

144 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF   DEATH  145 

drove  like  rain  to  the  roots  of  her  life.  When  she 
was  able  to  move,  Vala  lay  sad  and  still.  All  was 
over,  and  Nanna  stood  astonished,  smitten,  dismayed, 
on  a  threshold  she  could  not  pass.  The  Eternal  had 
given,  and  it  was  a  gift;  he  had  taken  away,  and  it 
was  an  immeasurable  loss,  and  she  could  not  say, 
"  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  She  was  utterly 
desolate ;  and  when  she  washed  for  the  last  time  the 
little  feet  that  had  never  trod  the  moor  or  street  or 
house,  she  thought  her  heart  would  break.  Who  had 
led  them  through  the  vast  spaces  of  the  constellations  ? 
Whither  had  they  been  led  ?  There  was  no  answer  to 
her  moaning  question.  She  looked  from  her  dead 
Vala  to  God,  and  all  was  darkness.  She  could  not 
see  him. 

It  was  a  hurried  burial  in  a  driving  storm.  The  sea 
rolled  in  fateful  billows,  the  winds  whistled  loud  and 
shrill,  the  rain  soaked  Nanna  through  and  through. 
Two  or  three  of  her  neighbors  followed  afar  off ;  they 
wished  her  to  see  they  were  not  oblivious  of  her  grief 
and  loss,  but  they  dared  not  break  the  ordinance  of 
town  and  kirk  and  voluntarily  and  without  urgent 
reason  come  in  contact  with  the  contagion;  for  the 
island  not  many  years  previously  had  been  almost 
decimated  by  the  same  scourge,  and  every  man  and 
woman  was  the  guardian,  not  only  of  his  or  her  own 
life,  but  of  the  lives  of  the  community. 

Nanna  understood  this.  She  saw  the  dark,  cloaked 
figures  of  her  friends  standing  in  the  storm  at  a  dis 
tance,  and  she  knew  the  meaning  of  their  upraised 
hands ;  but  she  had  no  heart  to  answer  the  signal  of 
sympathy.  Alone,  she  stood  by  the  small  open  grave 

9* 


146  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  saw  it  filled.  The  rain  beat  on  it,  and  she  was 
glad  that  it  beat  on  her.  It  was  with  difficulty,  and 
only  with  some  affected  anger,  the  two  men  who  had 
buried  the  child  got  her  to  return  to  her  home. 

How  vacant  it  was!  How  unspeakably  lonely! 
The  stormy  dreariness  outside  the  cot,  the  atmo 
sphere  of  sorrow  and  loss  within  it,  were  depressing 
beyond  words.  And  what  can  be  said  of  the  loneli 
ness  and  sorrow  within  the  soul  ?  But  in  every  bitter 
cup  there  is  one  drop  bitterest  of  all ;  and  in  Nanna's 
case  this  was  David's  neglect  and  apparent  desertion. 
She  had  received  no  message  from  him,  nor  had  he 
come  near  her  in  all  her  trouble.  Truly,  he  must  have 
broken  the  law  to  do  so ;  but  Nanna  was  sure  no  town 
ordinance  would  have  kept  her  from  David's  side  in 
such  an  hour,  and  she  despised  that  obedience  to  law 
which  could  teach  him  such  cowardly  neglect. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  he  came  not.  The  fever 
was  by  this  time  in  all  the  cottages  around  her,  and 
the  little  hamlet  was  a  plague-spot  that  every  one 
avoided.  But,  for  all  that,  Nanna's  heart  condemned 
her  cousin.  She  tried  him  by  her  own  feelings,  and 
found  him  guilty  of  unpardonable  selfishness  and 
neglect.  And  oh,  how  dreary  are  those  waste  places 
left  by  the  loved  who  have  deserted  us !  With  what 
bitter  tears  we  water  them !  Vala  and  David  had  been 
her  last  tie  to  love  and  happiness.  "  Thank  God,"  she 
cried  out  in  her  misery,  "  it  can  only  be  broken  once !  " 

Vala  had  been  in  her  grave  a  week— a  week  of  days 
that  turned  the  mother's  heart  gray— before  Nanna 
heard  a  word  of  comfort.  Then  once  more  David  lifted 
the  latch  of  the  cot  and  entered  her  presence.  She 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  147 

was  sitting  still  and  empty-handed,  and  her  white 
face  and  the  quivering  of  her  lips  pierced  him  to  the 
heart. 

"  Nanna !  Nanna !  "  he  said. 

Then  she  rose,  and  looked  round  the  lonely  room, 
and  David  understood  what  she  meant. 

"  Nanna !  Nanna ! "  was  still  all  that  he  could  say. 
He  could  find  no  words  fit  for  such  sorrow ;  but  there 
was  the  truth  to  speak,  and  that  might  have  some 
comfort  in  it.  So  he  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  said 
gently : 

"  Nanna !  dear  Nanna !  your  husband  is  dead." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it !  "  she  answered.  "  He  killed  Vala 
twice  over."  Her  voice  was  low  and  weary,  and  she 
asked  no  question  about  the  matter. 

"  Did  you  think  I  had  forgotten  you,  Nanna  ? " 

"Well,  then,  yes." 

"  Forgotten  you  and  Vala  ?  " 

"  It  looked  most  like  it.  I  thought  you  were  either 
feared  for  yourself  or  the  law." 

"  No  wonder  men  think  ill  of  God,  whom  they  do 
not  know,  when  they  are  so  ready  to  think  ill  of  men, 
whom  they  do  know." 

"  O  David !  how  could  you  desert  me  ?  Can  you 
think  of  all  that  I  have  suffered  alone  ?  God  nor  man 
has  helped  me." 

"  Poor,  poor  Nanna ! " 

"  If  you  had  been  ill  to  death,  neither  the  words  of 
men  nor  the  power  of  the  law  could  have  kept  me 
from  your  sick-bed.  No,  indeed !  I  would  have  risked 
everything  to  help  you.  Where  were  you  at  all, 
David?" 


148  PBISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  I  was  on  the  Sea  Rover." 

"  The  Sea  Rover  !  That  is  Nicol's  ship.  What  did 
he  do  to  you  ?  What  were  you  there  for  ? " 

"  I  was  on  the  Sea  Rover  nursing  your  husband." 

"My  God!" 

"  That  is  the  truth,  Nanna.  I  have  just  finished  my 
task." 

"Who  sent  you?" 

"The  minister  came  to  me  with  the  order,  and  I 
could  not  win  by  it  and  face  God  and  man  again." 

"  What  said  he  ?    O  David !  David !  " 

"He  said,  'David  Borson,  there  are  four  men  ill 
with  typhus  this  morning  on  the  Sea  Rover.  The  one 
man  yet  un  stricken  is  quite  broken  down  with  fright 
and  fatigue.  The  doctor  says  some  one  ought  to  go 
there.  What  do  you  think  ? '  And  I  said,  '  Minister, 
do  you  mean  me  ? '  And  he  smiled  a  bit  and  answered, 
1 1  thought  you  would  know  your  duty,  David.' " 

"But  why  your  duty,  David?  Surely  Vala  was 
dearer  and  nearer." 

"The  minister  said,  'You  are  a  lone  man,  David, 
and  you  fear  God;  so,  then,  you  need  not  fear  the 
fever.' " 

"And  he  knew  that  you  hated  Sinclair!  Knew 
that  Sinclair  had  come  to  my  house  with  the  fever  on 
him— knew  that  he  had  lifted  my  poor  bairn,  only 
that  he  might  give  her  the  death-kiss ! " 

"  No,  no !  How  could  any  father,  any  man,  be  as 
bad  as  that,  Nanna  ? " 

"  You  know  not  how  bad  the  devil  can  make  a  man 
when  he  enters  into  him.  And  how  could  the  minis 
ter  send  you  such  a  hard  road  ? " 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  149 

"It  was  made  easy  to  me;  it  was  indeed,  Nanna. 
The  sensible  presence  of  God,  and  the  shining  of  his 
face  on  me,  though  only  for  a  moment,  made  me  will 
ing  to  give  up  all  my  anger  and  all  my  revenge,  and 
wait  on  my  enemy,  and  do  what  I  could  for  him  to  the 
last  moment." 

"  And  Vala  ?    How  could  you  forget  her  ? " 

"  I  did  not  forget  her.  I  was  feared  for  the  child, 
though  I  would  not  say  that  to  you.  Barbara  told 
me  she  had  fret  all  night,  and  when  I  said  it  would  be 
for  her  mother,  the  woman  shook  her  head  in  a  way 
that  made  me  tremble.  I  was  on  my  way  to  see  her 
and  you  when  I  met  the  minister,  and  he  sent  me  the 
other  way." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  him  that  you  feared  for 
Vala?" 

"  I  said  that,  and  he  said,  '  Nanna  will  be  able  to 
care  for  the  little  one;  but  there  is  a  strong  man 
needed  to  care  for  her  husband ;  Nicol  Sinclair'  will  be 
hard  to  manage.'  And  then  he  minded  me  of  the 
man's  sinful  life,  and  he  said  peradventure  it  might 
be  the  purpose  of  God  even  yet  to  give  him  another 
opportunity  for  repentance  through  me." 

"  If  he  had  known  Nicol  Sinclair  as  I—" 

"  Yes,  Nanna,  but  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  die  eter 
nally.  If  I  could  help  to  save  any  one  from  such  a 
fate,  even  my  worst  enemy,— even  your  enemy  and 
Vala's,— what  should  I  have  done?  Tell  me." 

"  Just  what  you  did.  You  have  done  right.  Yes ; 
though  the  man  killed  Vala,  you  have  done  right! 
You  have  done  right !  " 

"  I  knew  that  would  be  your  last  word." 


150  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Did  he  have  one  good  thought,  one  prayer,  to 
meet  death  with  ? " 

"  He  did  not.  It  was  a  wild  night  when  he  was  in 
the  dead  thraws— a  wild  night  for  the  flitting ;  and  he 
went  out  in  storm  and  darkness,  and  the  sea  carried 
him  away." 

"  God  have  mercy  upon  him !  I  have  not  a  tear 
left  for  Nicol  Sinclair." 

"It  was  an  awful  death;  but  on  the  same  night 
there  was  a  very  good  death  after  a  very  good  life. 
You  have  heard,  Nanna  ? " 

"I  have  heard  nothing.  For  many  days  all  has 
been  still  and  tidingless.  The  fever  is  in  every  house, 
and  no  one  comes  near  but  the  doctor,  and  he  speaks 
only  to  the  sick." 

"  "Well,  then,  the  good  minister  has  gone  home.  He 
was  taken  with  the  fever  while  giving  the  sacrament 
to  Elder  Somerlid.  And  he  knew  that  he  would  die, 
for  he  said,  '  John  Somerlid,  we  shall  very  soon  drink 
this  cup  together  in  the  house  of  our  Father  in  heaven.' 
So  when  he  got  back  to  the  manse  he  sent  for  Elder 
Peterson,  and  gave  him  his  last  words." 

"  And  I  know  well  that  they  would  be  good  words." 

"  They  were  like  himself,  full  of  hope.  He  spoke 
about  his  books,  and  the  money  in  his  desk  to  pay  all 
his  debts,  and  then  he  said : 

" '  The  days  of  my  life  are  ended,  but  I  have  met  the 
hand  of  God,  Peter,  and  it  is  strong  to  lead  and  to 
comfort  me.  A  word  was  brought  to  me  even  as  I 
held  the  blessed  cup  in  my  hand.  Read  to  me  from 
the  Book  while  I  can  listen  to  it.'  And  Peterson  asked, 
'  What  shall  I  read  ? '  And  the  minister  said,  '  Take 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  161 

the  Psalms.  There  is  everything  in  the  Psalms.'  So 
Peterson  read  the  ones  he  called  for,  and  after  a  little 
the  minister  said : 

"  '  That  will  do,  Peter.  I  turn  now  from  the  sorrow 
and  pain  and  darkness  of  earth  to  the  celestial  city,  to 
infinite  serenities,  to  love  without  limit,  to  perfect  joy. 
And  when  I  am  dead,  see  you  to  my  burying,  Peter. 
Lay  me  in  the  grave  with  my  face  to  the  east,  and  put 
above  me  Jesus  Christ's  own  watchword,  "  TTiy  king 
dom  come."'  After  that  he  asked  only  for  water,  and 
so  he  died." 

"  Blessed  are  such  dead.  There  is  no  need  to  weep 
for  them." 

"That  is  one  thing  sure;  but  I  have  seen  this, 
Nanna :  that  the  wicked  is  unbefriended  in  his  death- 
pang." 

"  And  after  it,  David  ?    O  David,  after  it  ? " 

"  There  is  no  darkness  nor  shadow  of  death  where 
the  worker  of  iniquity  may  hide,"  he  answered  with 
an  awful  solemnity. 

"  O  David,  we  come  into  the  world  weeping,  and  we 
go  out  fearing.  It  is  a  hard  travail,  both  for  body 
and  soul." 

And  David  walked  to  the  little  table  on  which  the 
Book  lay,  and  he  turned  the  leaves  until  he  found  the 
words  he  wanted.  And  Nanna  watched  him  with 
eyes  purified  by  that  mysterious  withdrawal  into  the 
life  of  the  soul  which  comes  through  a  great  sor 
row. 

"  It  was  not  always  so,  Nanna,"  he  said.     "  Listen ! 

"  For  their  sakes  I  made  the  world,  and  when  Adam  trans 
gressed  my  statutes,  then  was  decreed  that  now  is  done. 


152  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Then  were  the  entrances  of  this  world  made  narrow,  full  of 
sorrow  and  travail ;  they  are  but  few  and  evil,  full  of  perils  and 
very  painful. 

"  For  the  entrances  of  the  elder  world  were  wide  and  sure, 
and  brought  immortal  fruit. 

But  yet  there  is  to  be  a  restoration,  Nanna." 

"  I  know  not,"  she  answered  wearily.     "  It  is  so  far 

off— so  far  away." 

"  But  it  is  promised.     It  is  sure. 

"  The  world  shall  be  turned  into  the  old  silence  seven  days, 
like  as  in  former  judgments,  so  that  no  man  shall  remain. 

"  And  after  seven  days,  the  world,  that  yet  awaketh  not,  shall 
be  raised  up ;  and  that  shall  die  that  is  corrupt. 

"  And  the  earth  shall  restore  those  that  are  asleep  in  her ;  and 
the  dust,  those  that  dwell  in  silence ;  and  the  secret  places  shall 
deliver  those  souls  that  were  committed  unto  them. 

"  And  the  Most  High  shall  appear  upon  the  seat  of  judgment, 
and  misery  shall  pass  away,  and  the  long  suffering  shall  have 
an  end. 

"  But  judgment  shall  remain ;  truth  shall  stand ;  and  faith 
shall  wax  strong." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  these  things,  David  5  I  cannot 
think  of  them.  What  I  want  is  some  word  of  comfort 
about  Vala— a  little  word  from  beyond  would  make 
all  the  difference.  Why  is  it  not  given?  Why  is 
there  no  answering  voice  from  the  other  side  ?  There 
is  none  on  this.  Why  does  God  pursue  a  poor,  broken 
hearted  woman  so  hardly?  Even  now,  when  I  have 
wept  my  heart  cold  and  dumb,  I  do  not  please  him. 
One  thing  only  is  sure— my  misery.  Oh,  why,  why, 
David?" 

And  David  could  only  drop  his  eyes  before  the  sad, 
inquiring  gaze  of  Nanna's.  He  murmured  something 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  153 

about  Adam  and  the  cross,  and  told  her  sorrowfully 
that  He  who  hung  upon  it,  forsaken,  in  the  dark,  also 
asked,  ll  Why  ? "  The  austerity  and  profound  mystery 
of  his  creed  gave  him  no  more  comforting  answer  to 
the  pathetic  inquiry. 

He  spent  the  day  in  the  little  hamlet,  and,  the 
weather  being  dry  and  not  very  cold,  he  persuaded 
Nanna  to  take  a  walk  upon  the  cliff-top  with  him. 
She  agreed  because  she  had  not  the  strength  to  oppose 
his  desire ;  but  if  David  had  had  any  experience  with 
suffering  women,  he  would  have  seen  at  once  how  in 
effectual  his  effort  would  be.  The  gray,  icy,  indiffer 
ent  sea  had  nothing  hopeful  to  say  to  her.  The  gray 
gulls,  with  their  stern,  cold  eyes,  watchful  and  hungry, 
filled  her  ears  with  nothing  but  painful  clamoring. 
There  was  no  voice  in  nature  to  cry,  "  Comfort,"  to  a 
bruised  soul. 

She  said  the  wind  hurt  her,  that  she  was  tired,  that 
she  would  rather  sit  still  in  the  house  and  shut  her 
eyes  and  think  of  Vala.  She  leaned  so  heavily  on 
him  that  David  was  suddenly  afraid,  and  he  looked 
with  more  scrutiny  into  her  face.  If  his  eyes  had 
been  opened  he  would  have  seen  over  its  youth  and 
beauty  signs  of  a  hand  that  writes  but  once ;  for  when 
despair  assumes  the  dignity  of  patience  it  carries  with 
it  the  warrant  of  death. 

They  went  slowly  and  silently  back  to  the  house, 
and  as  they  approached  it  David  said,  "  Some  one  has 
called,  for  the  door  is  open."  And  they  walked  a 
little  faster,  so  that  Nanna's  cheeks  flushed  with  the 
movement  and  the  wind. 

Matilda  Sabiston  sat  on  the  hearthstone  grumbling 


154  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

at  the  cold,  while  the  man-servant  who  had  brought 
her  so  far  was  piling  the  peats  upon  the  fire  to  warm 
her  feet  and  hands.  When  David  and  Nanna  entered 
she  did  not  move,  but  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  them 
with  a  malignant  anger  that  roused  in  both  a  temper 
very  different  from  that  in  which  their  hopeless  walk 
had  been  taken.  It  was  immediately  noticeable  in 
Nanna.  She  dropped  David's  hand  and  walked  for 
ward  to  her  visitor,  and  they  looked  steadily  at  each 
other  for  a  few  moments.  Then  Matilda  said : 

"Think  shame  of  yourself,  to  be  so  soon  at  the 
courting  again,  and,  above  all,  with  Mm ! " 

Nanna  took  no  notice  of  the  remark,  but  asked, 
"  Why  are  you  here  ?  I  wish  to  have  no  dealings  with 
you,  for  no  good  can  come  of  them." 

"Would  I  come  here  for  good?  There  is  no  good 
in  any  of  your  kind.  I  came  here  to  tell  you  that  I 
was  glad  that  there  is  one  Borson  less." 

"There  has  been  death  among  your  own  kin,  mis 
tress,"  said  David,  "  and  such  death  as  should  make 
the  living  fear  to  bring  it  to  remembrance." 

"I  know  it.  You  ought  to  fear.  Did  you  slay 
Nicol,  as  your  father  slew  Bele  Trenby,  by  water  ?  or 
did  you  poison  him  with  drugs  ?  or  is  your  hand  red 
with  his  life-blood?  And  now,  before  the  fish  have 
had  time  to  pick  his  bones,  you  are  wooing  his  wife." 

"  Will  you  let  Nanna  alone  ?    She  is  ill." 

"111?  Babble!  Look  at  her  rosy  cheeks!  She 
has  been  listening  to  your  love- words.  Who  sent  you 
to  the  Sea  Rover  f  What  were  you  doing  there  ?  A 
great  plot !  A  wicked  plot  against  poor  Nicol !  " 

"  I  went  to  the  Sea  Rover  because—" 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  155 

"  Very  ready  you  were  to  go  to  Nicol's  ship  and  to 
do  your  will  there !  Oh,  it  was  a  great  opportunity ! 
None  to  see !  none  to  tell  tales !  But  I  know  you !  I 
know  you!  The  black  drop  of  murder  is  in  every 
Borson's  veins." 

"  Mistress,  you  are  an  old  woman,  and  you  may  say 
your  say.  If  you  were  a  man  it  would  be  different. 
I  would  cut  out  your  lying  tongue,  or  make  it  eat  its 
own  words." 

With  railing  and  insolence  she  defied  him  to  the  act, 
and  David  stood  looking  at  her  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  As  for  Nanna,  she  had  thrown  off  her  cloak 
and  seated  herself  on  Vala's  couch.  She  was  trying 
to  control  her  temper ;  but  the  little  room  was  already 
impregnated  with  Matilda's  personality,  and  Nanna 
could  not  escape  from  those  indirect  but  powerful  in 
fluences  that  distil  from  an  actively  evil  life. 

"  I  wish,  Matilda  Sabiston,  that  you  would  leave  my 
house,"  she  said.  "  I  think  that  you  have  brought  the 
devil  in  with  you." 

Then  Matilda  turned  in  her  chair  and  looked  at 
Nanna.  Her  face,  handsomely  prominent  in  youth, 
had  become  with  sin  and  age  like  that  of  a  bird  of 
prey ;  it  was  all  nose  and  two  fierce,  gleaming  eyes. 

"  Do  you  talk  of  the  devil  ? "  she  screamed.  "  You, 
who  drove  your  husband  to  sin,  and  sent  your  baby 
to  hell ! " 

Then  Nanna,  with  a  pitiful  cry,  buried  her  face  in 
Vala's  pillow ;  and  David,  full  of  anger,  said  : 

"  I  will  take  you  from  this  house,  mistress.  You  were 
not  asked  to  come  here,  and  you  cannot  stay  here." 

"  I  will  stay  until  I  have  said  what  you  shall  listen 


156  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

to.  The  child  of  this  woman  has  been  taken  for  your 
father's  sin.  The  mother  will  go  next.  Then  you  will 
bite  the  last  morsel  of  Kol's  curse.  I  am  living  only 
to  see  this." 

"  I  fear  not  the  curse  of  any  man,"  said  David,  in 
a  passion.  "  There  is  no  power  in  any  mortal's  curse 
that  prayer  cannot  wither.  Keep  it  to  yourself —you, 
who  believe  in  it.  As  for  me—" 

"  As  for  you,  I  will  give  you  some  advice.  When 
the  new  minister  is  placed,  go  and  tell  him  what  Liot 
Borson  told  you  at  his  death-hour.  For  I  know  well 
he  did  not  die  without  boasting  of  his  revenge  on  Bele 
Trenby.  Death  could  n't  shut  Liot's  mouth  till  the 
words  were  out  of  it.  Make  the  confession  your  father 
ought  to  have  made,  and  let  me  hear  it.  I  have  said 
it,  and  fools  have  laughed  at  me,  and  wise  men  have 
hid  the  words  in  their  hearts ;  and  I  will  not  die  till 
my  words  are  made  true.  And  if  you  will  not  make 
them  true,  then  the  dead  will  have  their  satisfaction,  and 
love  will  go  to  the  grave  and  not  to  the  bridal.  Now, 
then,  do  what  is  before  you.  I  have  set  you  your  task." 

She  spoke  with  a  rapid  passion  that  would  not  be 
interrupted,  and  then,  still  muttering  threats  and  ac 
cusations,  tottered  out  of  the  cot  on  her  servant's  arm. 
David  was  speechless.  The  truth  bound  him.  What 
powers  of  divination  this  evil  woman  had,  he  knew 
not,  but  she  at  least  had  driven  home  the  unacknow 
ledged  fear  in  his  heart.  He  sat  down  by  Nanna  and 
tried  to  comfort  her,  but  she  could  not  listen  to  him. 
"  Leave  me  alone  to-day,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  have  had 
all  I  can  bear." 

So  he  went  back  to  Lerwick,  feeling  with  every  step 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  157 

he  took  that  the  task  Matilda  had  set  him  would  have 
to  be  accomplished.  The  humiliation  would  indeed  be 
great,  but  if  by  confession  he  could  ward  off  punish 
ment  from  Nanna  he  must  accept  the  alternative. 
Himself  he  took  not  into  consideration.  No  threat 
and  no  fear  of  personal  suffering  could  have  forced 
him  to  speak ;  but  if,  peradventure,  silence  was  sin, 
and  sin  brought  sorrow,  then  his  duty  to  others 
demanded  from  him  the  long-delayed  acknowledg 
ment.  However,  he  was  not  yet  certain  of  the  right, 
and  the  new  minister  had  not  yet  come,  and  there  is 
always  some  satisfaction  in  putting  off  what  is  dubi 
ous  and  questionable. 

The  new  minister  was  not  finally  settled  until 
Christmas.  He  proved  to  be  a  young  man  with  the 
air  of  theological  schools  still  around  him.  David  was 
afraid  of  him.  He  thought  of  the  tender,  mellowed 
temper  of  the  old  man  whose  place  he  was  to  fill,  and 
wished  that  his  acknowledgment  had  been  made  while 
he  was  alive.  He  feared  to  bring  his  father's  spiritual 
case  before  one  who  had  never  known  him,  who  had 
grown  up  "southward"  under  very  different  influ 
ences,  who  would  likely  be  quite  unable  to  go  a  step 
beyond  the  letter  of  the  law. 

He  talked  to  Nanna  frequently  about  the  matter, 
and  she  was  more  than  inclined  to  silence.  "  Let  well 
alone,  David,"  she  said.  "What  good  can  come  of 
calling  back  old  sins  and  sorrows  ?  Who  has  set  you 
this  task?  One  who  has  always  hated  you.  If  God 
had  sent,  would  he  have  sent  by  Tier  ?  No ;  but  when 
the  devil  wants  a  cruel,  wicked  messenger,  he  can  get 
none  so  fit  for  his  purpose  as  a  bad  old  woman." 
10 


158  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

However,  while  David  hesitated  Matilda  went  to  the 
new  minister.  She  prefaced  her  story  by  a  gift  of  ten 
pounds  for  the  replenishing  of  the  manse,  and  then 
told  it  according  to  her  own  wishes  and  imagination. 

"  The  .minister  dead  and  gone  would  not  listen  to 
me,"  she  said.  "He  was  a  poor  creature,  and  Liot 
Borson  was  one  of  his  pets.  The  man  could  do  no 
wrong  in  his  eyes.  So  I  have  been  sin-bearer  for  more 
than  twenty  years.  Now,  then,  I  look  to  you  to  clear 
this  matter  to  the  bottom,  and  let  the  talk  about  it 
come  to  an  end  once  for  all." 

"  It  is  a  grave  matter,"  said  Minister  Campbell,  "  and 
I  am  astonished  that  my  predecessor  let  it  rest  so  long 
—though  doubtless  he  did  it  for  the  best,  for  there 
will  be  two  sides  to  this,  as  to  all  other  disputes." 

"There  is  not,"  answered  Matilda,  angrily.  "All 
is  as  I  have  told  you." 

"But,  according  to  your  testimony,  Liot  Borson's 
guilt  rests  on  your  dreams.  That  is  a  poor  founda 
tion." 

"  I  have  always  been  a  foresighted  woman— a  great 
dreamer— and  I  dream  true." 

"  But  I  know  not  how  to  call  a  kirk  meeting  on  a 
dream." 

"Was  the  Bible  written  for  yesterday  or  for  to-day  ? " 

"  It  was  written  for  every  day,  unto  the  end  of  time." 

"  Then  look  to  it.  Ask  it  how  many  of  its  great 
events  hang  upon  dreams.  Take  the  dream  life  out 
of  the  Bible,  minister,  and  where  are  you  ? " 

"  Mistress  Sabiston,  I  am  not  used  to  arguing  with 
women,  but  I  will  remind  you  that  the  dream  life  of 
the  Bible  does  not  rest  on  female  authority.  It  was 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  159 

the  men  of  the  Bible  that  saw  visions  and  dreamed 
dreams.  As  I  remember,  only  one  woman— a  pagan, 
Pilate's  wife— is  recorded  as  being  in  this  way  in 
structed.  I  should  not  be  inclined  to  discipline  the 
memory  of  Liot  Borson  on  the  strength  of  your 
dream." 

"  There  is,  or  there  was,  other  evidence ;  for  much 
of  it  has  now  gone  away  through  the  door  of  death. 
What  I  want  is  Liot's  own  confession.  He  made  it  to 
his  son  before  he  gave  up  the  ghost.  Now,  then,  let 
David  speak  for  his  father." 

"  That  is  a  different  thing.  If  David  has  a  message 
to  deliver,  he  must  deliver  it,  or  he  is  recreant  to  his 
trust." 

"  See  to  it,  then.  It  is  all  I  ask,  but  I  have  a  right 
to  ask  it." 

"What  right?" 

"  Bele  was  my  adopted  son.  I  loved  him.  He  was 
my  heir.  I  was  a  lone-living  woman,  and  he  was  all 
I  had.  As  I  have  told  you,  Liot  wished  to  marry  my 
niece  Karen,  that  he  might  heir  my  property.  He 
had  every  reason  to  get  Bele  out  of  his  way,  and  he 
did  it.  Ask  his  son." 

"  I  will." 

With  these  words  he  became  silent,  and  Matilda  saw 
that  there  was  an  end  of  the  conversation  for  that 
time.  But  she  was  now  more  eager  and  passionate 
for  the  impeachment  of  Liot's  good  name  than  she  had 
ever  been,  and  she  vowed  to  herself  that  if  Minister 
Campbell  did  not  give  her  satisfaction  he  should  have 
all  the  petty  misery  and  trouble  her  money  and  influ 
ence  could  give  him. 


160  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

The  young  minister,  however,  did  not  hesitate.  It 
was  a  most  unpleasant  legacy  to  his  charge,  and  he 
was  straitened  until  he  had  done  his  duty  concerning 
it.  He  went  to  see  David  at  once,  and  heard  from  his 
lips  the  whole  truth.  And  he  was  greatly  impressed 
with  the  story,  for  the  young  man  told  it  with  such 
truth  and  tenderness  that  every  word  went  heartwise. 
He  could  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  call  a  meet 
ing  in  the  kirk,  and  summon  David  to  tell  the  congre 
gation  just  what  he  had  told  him.  And  as  it  had  been 
Liot's  intention  to  do  this  very  thing  himself,  the  min 
ister  could  not  see  that  David  would  be  guilty  of  any 
unkindness  to  his  father's  memory.  Quite  the  con 
trary.  He  would  be  fulfilling  his  desire  and  doing  for 
him  the  duty  he  had  been  unable  personally  to  per 
form. 

David  had  nothing  to  say  against  the  proposal.  It 
turned  him  faint,  and  he  wondered  if  it  would  be  pos 
sible  for  him  to  stand  up  in  the  presence  of  his  fel 
lows,  and  in  the  sight  of  all  the  women  who  admired 
and  respected  him,  and  do  what  was  required.  A 
cold  sweat  covered  his  face;  his  large  hands  felt 
powerless ;  he  looked  at  the  minister  appealingly,  but 
could  not  utter  a  word. 

"  You  must  speak  for  your  father,  David.  Perhaps 
you  ought  to  have  spoken  before  this.  We  can  do  so 
little  for  the  dead  that  any  wish  of  theirs  that  is  posi 
tive  ought  to  be  sacredly  granted.  What  do  you  say  ? " 

"  It  is  hard,  minister.  But  what  you  say  is  right, 
that  I  will  do." 

"We  will  not  touch  the  Sabbath  day,  David.  I 
will  ask  the  people  to  come  to  the  kirk  next  Wednes- 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  163 

day  afternoon.    The  men  will  not  be  at  sea,  and  the 
women  will  be  at  leisure  then.     What  do  you  think  ? " 

"As  you  think,  minister." 

"  Tell  them  just  what  you  have  told  me.  I  believe 
every  word  you  have  said,  and  I  will  stand  by  you— I 
and  all  good  men  and  women,  I  am  sure." 

"  Thank  you,  minister." 

But  he  could  scarcely  utter  the  words.  He  had 
often  thought  of  this  ordeal ;  now  that  it  was  really 
to  face,  his  heart  utterly  failed  him.  He  went  straight 
to  Nanna,  and  she  forgot  her  own  sorrow  in  his,  and 
so  comforted  and  strengthened  him  that  he  went  away 
feeling  that  all  things  would  be  possible  if  she  was 
always  as  kind  and  sympathetic. 

It  was  then  Friday,  and  Wednesday  came  inex 
orably  and  swiftly.  David  tried  in  every  way  to  pre 
pare  himself,  but  no  strength  came  from  his  efforts. 
Prayer,  nor  meditation,  nor  long  memories  of  the  past, 
nor  hopes  for  the  future,  had  any  potency.  He  was 
stupefied  by  the  thing  demanded  of  him,  and  the  sim 
ple,  vivid  cry  which  always  brings  help  had  not  yet 
been  forced  from  his  lips.  But  at  the  last  moment  it 
came.  Then  the  coldness  and  dumbness  and  wretched 
inertness  that  had  bound  him,  body  and  soul,  were 
gone.  When  he  saw  Matilda  Sabiston  enter  the  kirk, 
her  eyes  gleaming  and  her  face  eager  with  evil  expec 
tations,  he  felt  the  wondrous  words  of  David 1  burn 
ing  in  his  heart  and  on  his  lips,  and  he  was  no  longer 
afraid.  Psalm  after  psalm  went  singing  through  his 
soul,  and  he  said  joyfully  to  himself,  "  Sometimes  God 
is  long  in  coming,  but  he  is  never  too  late." 
1  Ps.  xxvii. 

10* 


164  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

The  minister  did  not  ascend  the  pulpit.  He  stood 
at  the  table,  and  after  a  prayer  and  a  hymn  he  said : 

"We  have  come  together  this  afternoon  to  hear 
what  David  Borson  has  to  say  in  regard  to  the  charge 
which  Matilda  Sabiston  has  made  for  twenty-six  years 
against  his  father  Liot  Borson." 

"  That  question  was  decided  long  ago/'  said  an  old 
man,  rising  slowly.  "I  heard  Minister  Ridlon  give 
verdict  concerning  it  at  the  funeral  of  Liot's  wife." 

"It  was  not  decided,"  cried  Matilda,  standing  up, 
and  turning  her  face  to  the  congregation.  "Liot 
Borson  found  it  easy  to  lie  at  his  wife's  coffin-side, 
but  when  it  came  to  his  own  death-hour  he  did  not 
dare  to  die  without  telling  the  truth.  Ask  his  son 
David." 

"  David  Borson,"  said  the  minister,  "  at  your  father's 
death-hour  did  he  indeed  confess  to  the  slaying  of  Bele 
Trenby?" 

Then  David  stood  up.  All  fear  had  gone,  he  knew 
not  where.  He  looked  even  taller  than  his  wont. 
And  the  light  of  God's  presence  was  so  close  to  him 
that  his  large,  fair  face  really  had  a  kind  of  luminosity. 

"  Minister,"  he  answered  with  a  solemn  confidence, 
"minister  and  friends,  my  father  at  his  death-hour 
expressly  said  that  he  did  not  slay  Bele  Trenby.  He 
said  that  he  laid  no  finger  on  him,  that  he  fell  into 
his  own  snare.  This  is  what  happened :  He  met  my 
father  on  the  moss,  and  said,  'Good  evening,  Liot.' 
And  my  father  said,  '  It  is  dark,'  and  spoke  no  more. 
You  know— all  of  you  know— they  were  ill  friends 
and  rivals;  so,  then,  silence  was  the  best.  And  if 
Bele  had  been  content  to  be  silent  and  tread  slowlv  in 


THE  JUSTIFICATION  OF  DEATH  165 

my  father's  steps  he  had  reached  his  ship  in  safety. 
But  he  must  talk  and  he  must  hurry ;  and  the  first 
was  not  wanted,  and  the  second  was  dangerous.  And 
after  a  little  my  father's  shoe-strings  came  undone, 
and  he  stooped  to  tie  them— who  would  n't,  where  a 
false  step  or  a  fall  might  be  death  ?  And  Bele  went 
on,  and  called  back  to  him,  i  Is  this  the  crossing  ? ' 
And  father  had  not  finished  fastening  his  shoes,  and 
did  not  answer.  So  then  Bele  called  again,  and  it  is 
likely  father  would  not  be  hurried  by  him,  and  he  did 
not  answer  that  time,  either.  And  Bele  said  he  was 
in  the  devil's  temper,  and  went  on  at  his  own  risk. 
And  the  next  moment  there  was  a  cry,  and  my  father 
lifted  his  head  hastily,  and  the  man  had  walked  into 
the  moss,  and  then  who  could  help  him  ?  But  well  I 
know,  if  help  had  been  possible,  my  father  would  have 
given  his  own  life  to  save  life,  even  though  the  man 
was  ten  times  his  enemy.  Over  and  over  I  have  seen 
Liot  Borson  bring  from  the  sea  men  who  hated  him, 
and  whom  no  one  else  would  venture  life  for.  Never 
mortal  man  walked  closer  with  God  than  Liot  Borson. 
I,  who  have  lived  alone  with  him  for  twenty  years,  I 
know  this ;  and  I  will  dare  to  say  that  in  the  matter 
of  Bele  Trenby  he  did  no  worse,  and  perhaps  a  great 
deal  better,  than  any  other  man  would  have  done. 
Why  was  Bele  on  the  moss  ?  He  was  a  sailor  and  a 
stranger.  A  man  must  have  life-knowledge  of  the 
moss  to  walk  it  in  the  night-time.  When  my  father 
was  willing  to  guide  him  across  it,  was  it  too  much 
that  he  should  be  silent,  and  that  he  should  let  his 
guide  do  a  thing  so  necessary  as  to  secure  tightly  his 
shoes  on  the  soft,  unstable  ground?  Was  his  guide 


166  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

to  let  go  this  safe  precaution  because  Bele  was  in  a 
hurry  to  reach  his  ship  ?  Was  Liot  Borson  to  blame 
if  the  man's  foolhardiness  and  insolent  presumption 
led  him  into  danger  and  death  ?  As  for  me,  I  say  this : 
I  wish  to  be  a  man  after  my  father's  heart.  For  he 
was  a  righteous  man  in  all  his  ways,  and  kind-hearted 
to  every  creature  in  trouble ;  and  he  was  a  life-saver, 
and  not  a  murderer.  And  this  I,  his  loving  son,  will 
maintain  to  my  last  breath.  And  if,  after  these  words, 
any  man  says,  'Liot  Borson  was  a  murderer,'  I  will 
call  him  a  cowardly  liar  and  slanderer  at  Lerwick 
Market  Cross,  and  follow  the  words  to  the  end  they 
deserve.  And  God  knows  I  speak  the  truth,  and  the 
whole  truth." 

Then  David  sat  down,  and  there  was  an  audible  stir 
and  movement  of  sympathy  and  approbation.  And 
the  minister  said :  "I  believe  every  word  you  have 
spoken,  David.  If  any  present  has  a  word  to  say, 
now  is  the  time  to  speak." 

Then  Elder  Hay  rose  and  said :  "  Of  what  use  is 
talk  ?  Liot  Borson  is  dead  and  judged.  How  shall  we, 
sinful  men  ourselves,  dare  to  meddle  with  the  verdict 
of  the  Lord  God  Almighty  ?  If  we  in  our  ignorance 
or  spite  reverse  it,  what  a  presumption  it  will  be ! 
And  if  we  confirm  it,  is  God's  decree  made  stronger 
by  our  '  yea,  yeas '  ?  What  at  all  does  Mistress  Sabis- 
ton  want  ? " 

"  I  want  Liot  Borson's  name  taken  off  the  roll,"  she 
answered  vehemently.  "  It  has  no  right  in  the  kirk's 
books.  Cross  it  out !  Blot  it  out !  It  is  a  shame  to 
the  white  pages." 

"  Is  there  here  any  man  or  woman  who  will  do  Mis- 


167 

tress  Sabiston's  will,  and  cross  out  Liot  Borson's  name 
for  her  ? "  asked  the  minister. 

There  was  a  deep,  emphatic  "  No !  "  And  the  min 
ister  continued :  "I  would  myself  rather  cut  off  my 
right  hand  than  cross  out  the  name  of  one  who  has 
passed  far  beyond  our  jurisdiction.  Suppose— and 
we  have  a  right  to  suppose— that  the  name  of  Liot 
Borson  is  written  in  the  shining  letters  of  the  book  of 
life,  and  we  have  crossed  it  off  our  kirk  book !  What 
then  ?  I  think  this  question  is  settled.  I  never  want 
to  hear  it  named  again.  I  will  enter  into  no  conver 
sations  about  it.  It  has  been  taken  out  of  our  hands 
by  God  himself.  We  will  not  dare  to  discuss  in  any 
way  what  he  has  already  decided.  We  will  now  sing 
together  the  Forty-third  Psalm." 

And,  amid  the  rustle  of  the  opening  leaves,  the 
minister  himself  started  the  psalmody.  There  was  a 
little  air  of  hurry  in  his  movements,  as  if  he  hasted  to 
drown  all  contention  in  singing ;  but  he  had  reached 
his  usual  grave  composure  before  the  end  of  the  verses, 
and  the  benediction  fell  like  the  final  satisfying  chords 
of  the  melody. 

Matilda  was  dumf  ounded  by  such  a  cutting  short  of 
the  case,  but  even  she  dared  not  interrupt  functions 
so  holy  as  praise  and  prayer.  In  the  kirk  she  was 
compelled  to  restrain  her  indignation,  but  when  she 
found  that  the  resolution  of  Minister  Campbell  not  to 
discuss  the  matter  or  enter  into  any  conversation  about 
it  was  universally  adopted  by  the  townspeople,  her 
anger  found  words  such  as  are  not  to  be  met  with  in 
books ;  and  she  did  not  spare  them. 

David  was  singularly  happy  and  satisfied.    He  had 


168  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

been  grandly  supported  both  by  God  and  man,  and  he 
was  grateful  for  the  pronounced  kindness  of  his  friends, 
for  their  hand-shakings  and  greetings  and  loving  words 
and  wishes.  But  when  both  the  enthusiasm  and  the 
pang  of  conflict  were  over,  oh,  how  good  it  was  to  clasp 
Nanna's  hand,  and  in  this  perfect  but  silent  compan 
ionship  to  walk  home  with  her !  Then  Nanna  made 
a  cup  of  tea,  and  they  drank  it  together,  and  talked 
over  what  had  been  said  and  done,  finally  drifting,  as 
they  always  did,  to  that  invincible  necessity  that  what 
ever  is  could  not  but  so  have  been.  And  though  their 
words  were,  as  all  human  words  about  God  must  be, 
terribly  inadequate,  yet  their  longing,  their  love,  and 
their  fears  were  all  understood.  And  He  who  is  so 
vast  and  strange  when 

With  intellect  we  gaze, 
Close  to  their  hearts  stole  in, 
In  a  thousand  tender  ways. 


IX 

A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED 

[FTER  this  the  winter  came  on  rapidly 
and  severely.  The  seas  were  danger 
ous,  and  the  fishing  precarious  and 
poor,  and  the  fever  still  lingered,  many 
cases  being  found  as  far  north  as  Yell. 
Thus  suffering  and  hard  poverty  and  death  filled  the 
short  days  and  made  twice  as  long  the  stretched-out 
nights  of  the  dark  season.  The  old  cloud  gathered 
round  David,  and  when  the  minister  preached  of  "  the 
will  and  purposes  of  God,"  it  seemed  to  David  that 
they  were  altogether  penal.  The  unfathomable  inner 
side  of  his  life  was  all  gloom  and  doubt ;  how,  then, 
could  the  material  side  be  cheerful  and  confident  ? 

The  new  minister,  however,  had  conceived  a  strong 
liking  for  the  young  man ;  they  were  nearly  of  the 
same  age ;  and  he  saw  that  David  was  troubled  about 
spiritual  matters,  and  took  every  opportunity  to  dis 
cuss  them  with  him.  But  he  had  too  much  of  the 
schools,  he  was  too  untried,  and  had  been,  in  the  main, 
too  happily  situated  to  comprehend  David's  views. 
The  very  piety  of  the  two  men  was  different.  David's 

169 


170  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

was  lively,  personal,  and  tender ;  it  sat  in  the  center. 
The  minister's  was  official,  intellectually  accepted, 
conscientiously  practised.  It  was  not  strange,  then, 
that  any  dissent  David  ventured  to  make  was  not 
conceived  of  as  a  soul-query,  but  rather  as  a  challenge 
against  impregnable  truths.  He  was  always  ready  to 
defend  Calvinism,  though  David  did  not  consciously 
attack  it.  To  be  sure,  he  said  strange  and  daring 
things— things  which  came  from  his  heart,  and  which 
often  staggered  his  opponent ;  but  all  the  more  Min 
ister  Campbell  put  on  his  armor  to  defend  his  creed. 

"  It  is  a  hard  religion  for  men  and  for  women,"  said 
David,  as  they  talked  a  stormy  afternoon  away  on 
Barbara's  hearthstone ;  "  and  why  God  gave  it,  I  can't 
tell ;  for,  after  all,  minister,  the  blessedness  of  heaven 
is  an  eternity  older  than  the  damnation  of  hell." 

"  Men  called  it  unto  themselves,  and  it  is  not  hard, 
David.  It  is  a  grand  creed ;  it  is  a  strong  anchor  for 
a  weak  soul ;  it  won't  let  a  man  drift  into  the  deep 
waters  of  infidelity  or  the  miserable  shoals  of  'per 
haps  '  and  '  suppose.'  Neither  will  it  let  him  float  on 
waves  of  feeling  like  Arminianism,  and  be  content 
with  '  ahs '  and  '  ohs,'  and  shrink  from  '  theref ores.' 
Calvinism  makes  strong  men  before  the  Lord,  David, 
and  strong  men  are  not  laid  on  rose-leaves  and  fed  on 
pap  and  cream." 

"That  is  true,  minister;  for  it  seems  to  me  that 
whenever  men  are  to  be  fishers,  and  fight  the  winds 
and  waves,  or  to  make  a  living  out  of  bare  moor  or 
rocks,  or  to  do  any  other  of  the  hard  work  of  life, 
they  are  born  Calvinists." 

"  Just  so,  David.    Arminians  can  weave  a  piece  of 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  171 

broadcloth,  and  Episcopals  can  till  the  rich,  juicy  fields 
of  England ;  but  God's  hard  work— yes,  David,  and 
his  hard  fighting— has  to  be  done  by  his  Calvinists. 
They  were  the  only  fighting  Protestants.  But  for 
Calvinists,  Puritans,  Huguenots,  there  would  have 
been  no  Reformation.  Philip  and  the  Pope  would 
have  had  their  way,  and  we  should  all  have  been 
papists  or  atheists." 

"  I  know  not.  You  say  so,  minister,  and  it  is  doubt 
less  true." 

"  It  is  true.  You  have  been  born  to  a  noble  creed ; 
accept  it  with  thankfulness  and  without  demur.  You 
are  not  called  upon  to  understand  it  or  to  reason 
about  it.  It  is  faith  that  conquers." 

And  after  such  an  oration  the  young  minister  would 
go  away  with  a  proud  sense  of  duty  well  performed, 
burning  with  his  own  evangel,  and  liking  David  well 
for  being  the  invoker  of  his  enthusiasm.  But  David, 
after  his  departure,  was  always  silent  and  depressed ; 
his  intellect  may  have  been  quickened,  but  he  was 
not  comforted. 

The  sunshine  that  had  brightened  his  life  during 
the  past  year  was  gone,  for  he  had  found  out  that  all 
his  happiness  was  bound  up  in  Nanna,  and  Nanna  was 
on  the  verge  of  despair.  Day  by  day  she  grew  thinner 
and  whiter,  more  melancholy  and  more  silent.  She 
did  only  work  enough  to  supply  the  barest  needs  of 
life,  and  for  the  most  part  sat  hour  after  hour  with 
dropped  hands  and  closed  eyes ;  or  she  was  seized  with 
a  restlessness  that  drove  her  to  motion,  and  then  she 
walked  the  small  bounds  of  her  room  until  physical 
exhaustion  threw  her  into  deep  sleep. 


172  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

David  watched  her  with  a  sad  patience.  He  had  felt 
severely  the  loss  of  Vala,  and  he  did  not  presume  to 
measure  Nanna's  sorrow  by  his  own.  He  knew  it  was 
natural  that  for  some  weeks  she  should  weep  for  a 
child  so  dear,  whose  little  life  had  been  so  pitifully 
wronged,  so  bound  to  suffering,  so  cruelly  cut  short. 
But  when  this  natural  sorrow  was  not  healed  by  time, 
when  Nanna  nursed  her  grief  to  despair  and  dwelt 
with  it  in  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  he 
thought  it  time  to  reason  with  her. 

"  You  will  kill  yourself,  Nanna,"  he  said. 

"Well,  then,  David,  I  hate  life." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  die  ? " 

"  No ;  I  am  afraid  to  die.  I  know  that  I  am  sin 
ning  every  day  in  weeping  for  my  poor  lost  bairn, 
and  yet  I  am  that  way  made  that  I  cannot  help  but 
weep  for  her.  For  it  is  my  fault,  David,  all  my  fault. 
Why,  then,  did  He  pursue  the  child  with  His  anger 
from  the  first  hour  of  her  sorrowful  life  to  the  last? 
And  where  is  she  now  ?  0  David,  where  is  she  ?  If 
God  would  only  let  me  go  to  her ! " 

"  Whist,  Nanna !  You  know  not  what  you  are  say 
ing.  You  might  be  asking  yourself  away  from  His 
presence." 

"  I  would  rather  be  with  Vala.  If  that  be  sinful,  let  me 
thole  the  wages  of  my  sin.  Where  is  my  dear  bairn  ? " 

"  I  heard  Elder  Kennoch  say  we  may  have  a  hope 
that  God  will  eventually  take  pity  on  those  babes  who 
have  done  no  actual  sin." 

"  But  when  will  he  take  pity  ?  And  until  he  does, 
how  can  the  wee  souls  endure  his  anger  ?  O  David, 
my  heart  will  break !  My  heart  will  break !  " 


A  SACEIFICE  ACCEPTED  173 

"Nanna,  listen  to  this:  when  Elga  Wick's  child 
died,  the  minister  said  there  was  a  benign  interpreta 
tion  of  the  doctrines  which  taught  us  that  none  but 
elect  infants  died.  It  would  be  unjust,  Nanna,  unless 
the  child  was  elect,  not  to  give  it  the  offer  of  salva 
tion." 

"  What  good  would  eighty  years  of  ( offers '  do,  if 
there  was  no  election  to  eternal  life  f " 

"  Nanna,  your  father  was  a  child  of  God,  and  you 
have  loved  him  from  your  youth  upward." 

"  Can  that  help  Vala?" 

"  Even  so.  He  keeps  his  mercy  for  children's  chil 
dren,  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  of  them  that 
fear  him.  Vala  was  in  the  direct  succession  of  faith." 

"You  know  what  her  father  and  his  folk  have 
been  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  why  did  my  father  let  me  marry  the  man  ? 
He  should  rather  have  tied  me  hands  and  feet,  and 
cast  me  into  the  depths  of  the  sea.  He  should  have 
said  to  me,  '  Nanna,  you  may  have  a  bairn,  and  it  may 
be  a  child  of  sin,  and  thus  foreordained  to  hell-fire.' 
Do  you  think  then  I  would  have  wed  Nicol  Sinclair  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  think  you  would." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  I  was  born  for  that  end  ?  " 

"I  think  you  had  set  your  heart  on  Nicol  at  all 
risks." 

"  At  that  time  Nicol  was  in  good  favor  with  all  folk." 

"  You  have  told  me  that  your  father  liked  him  not, 
and  that  he  said  many  things  to  you  against  a  mar 
riage  with  him ;  so,  then,  if  your  heart  had  not  been 
fully  set  on  its  own  way,  his  '  no '  would  have  been 


174  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

sufficient.  If  we  heed  not  fathers  and  mothers  and 
teachers,  we  should  not  heed,  Nanna,  no,  not  if  one 
came  from  the  dead  to  warn  us." 

"  That  is  an  awful  truth,  David." 

"  And  one  must  speak  truth  to  heal  a  wounded  soul. 
If  there  be  a  canker  in  the  body,  you  know  well  the 
doctor  must  not  spare  the  sharp  knife.  But  I  would 
not  put  away  hope  for  Vala— no,  indeed ! " 

"  Why,  David  ?     Oh,  why  ?  " 

"  Has  she  not  kindred  in  His  presence  ?  Will  He 
not  remember  His  promise  to  them?  Will  they  for 
get  to  remind  Him  of  it?  I  think  not  so  hardly  of 
the  dead." 

"David,  I  will  tell  you  the  last  awful  truth.  I 
never  could  get  the  poor  little  one  baptized,— things 
ay  went  so  against  it, — and  she  died  without  being 
signed  and  sealed  to  His  mercy ;  that  is  the  dreadful 
part  of  her  death.  I  was  ashamed— I  was  afraid  to 
tell  you  before.  O  David,  if  you  had  stayed  by  Vala 
instead  of  going  to  that  man,  you  might  perhaps  have 
won  her  this  saving  grace ;  but  it  was  not  to  be." 

David  almost  fainted  with  the  shock  of  this  intelli 
gence.  He  understood  now  the  anguish  which  was 
driving  Nanna  into  the  grave ;  and  he  had  no  comfort 
to  offer  her,  for  Nanna  seemed  to  make  out  a  terribly 
clear  case  of  rejection  and  of  foreordained  refusal. 

"  I  was  feared  to  ask  Nicol  to  stand  with  the  child 
when  it  ought  to  have  been  presented  in  the  kirk," 
she  said. 

"  But  your  father  ? "  asked  David. 

"  I  was  feared  to  ask  my  father  to  stand  in  Nicol's 
place,  lest  it  should  make  Nicol  harder  to  me  than  he 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  175 

was.  And,"  she  continued,  weeping  bitterly  as  she 
spoke,  "I  thought  not  of  Vala  dying,  and  hoped  that 
in  the  future  there  might  be  a  way  opened.  If  father 
had  lived  he  would  have  seen  to  the  child's  right,  but 
he  was  taken  just  when  he  was  moving  in  the  matter ; 
and  then  Nicol  grew  harder  and  harder,  and  as  for 
the  kirk,  he  would  not  go  there  at  all,  and  I  had  no 
kin  left  to  take  his  place.  Then  the  child  was  hurt, 
and  I  was  long  ill,  and  Nicol  went  away,  and  my 
friends  grew  cold,  fearing  lest  I  might  want  a  little 
help,  and  even  the  minister  was  shy  and  far  off.  So 
I  came  out  here  with  my  sorrow,  and  waited  and 
watched  for  some  friend  or  some  opportunity.  '  To 
morrow,  perhaps  to-morrow,'  I  said;  but  it  was  not 
to  be." 

"Nanna,  you  should  have  told  me  this  before.  I 
would  have  made  the  promises  for  Vala ;  I  would  have 
done  so  gladly.  Surely  you  should  have  spoken  to  me." 

"Every  day  I  thought  about  it,  and  then  I  was 
feared  for  what  would  happen  when  Nicol  found  it  out. 
And  do  you  not  think  that  Matilda  Sabiston  would 
have  sent  him  word  that  I  had  set  you  to  do  his  duty  ? 
She  would  have  twitted  him  about  it  until  he  would 
have  raged  like  a  roaring  lion,  and  blackened  my  good 
name,  and  yours  also,  and  most  likely  made  it  a  cause 
for  the  knife  he  was  ever  so  ready  to  use.  And  then, 
David,  there  are  folks— kirk  folks,  and  plenty  of  them 
—who  would  have  said,  'There  must  be  something 
wrong  to  set  Nicol  Sinclair  to  blood- spilling.'  And 
Matilda  Sabiston  would  have  spoken  out  plainly  and 
said,  'There  is  something  wrong'— and  this  and  that, 
and  more  to  it." 


11 


176  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"And  well,  then?" 

"Well,  then,  being  Matilda,  no  one  would  have 
thought  of  contradicting  her;  for  she  gives  much 
money  to  the  kirk  and  the  societies,  and  has  left  all 
she  has  to  free  slaves.  No ;  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  thole  and  be  quiet." 

"  There  might  be  some  excuse  for  being  quiet  when 
Vala  was  not  in  danger,  but  when  her  life  was  going, 
why  did  you  not  send  for  the  minister  ? " 

"This  is  what  happened;  for,  David,  God's  will 
must  be  done.  No  one  came  here  but  the  doctor.  On 
the  second  day  he  said,  'She  is  not  very  sick.'  At 
his  next  visit  he  said,  '  She  will  die.'  Then  I  told  him 
the  child  was  not  baptized,  and  prayed  him  to  go  for 
the  minister.  And  he  said  he  would  certainly  do  so. 
But  he  was  called  here  and  there,  and  he  forgot  that 
day ;  and  the  next  morning  very  early  he  went  to  the 
manse,  and  the  minister  had  gone  away ;  and  the  great 
storm  kept  him  away  for  three  days ;  so  when  he  got 
back  the  message  had  been  overlaid  by  many  others." 

"  O  Nanna !  Nanna !  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  so.  After  the  storm  the  doctor  came 
again,  and  Vala  was  dying.  And  then  he  rode  like  a 
man  riding  for  his  life,  and  spoke  very  angrily  to  the 
minister,  who  was  not  to  blame  at  all,  and  the  minis 
ter  was  hurt  at  his  words ;  but  he  came  that  afternoon, 
and  it  was  too  late" 

"  O  Nanna !     O  Vala !  Vala !  Vala !  " 

"  So  the  minister  was  angry  with  me  for  my  delays, 
and  he  spoke  the  hard  truth  to  me,  and  every  word 
went  to  my  soul  like  a  sword.  I  thought  I  should  die 
that  night,  and  I  longed  to  die.  There  was  no  friend 


A  SACEIFICE  ACCEPTED  177 

to  say  to  me  one  word  of  comfort,  and  I  did  not  dare 
to  pray.  I  was  feared  God  would  ask  me,  '  Where  is 
your  child  ? '  O  David,  what  for  at  all  did  God  make 
us  ?  For  this  life  is  full  of  sorrow,  and  it  is  little  com 
fort  to  be  told  that  there  is  a  worse  one  after  it." 

David  took  her  hand,  and  a  tear  dropped  upon  her 
slender  brown  fingers ;  but  he  did  not  answer  her 
question.  Indeed,  he  could  not.  The  same  bewilder 
ing  inquiry  had  haunted  his  own  sad  life.  So  much 
sorrow  and  pain,  and  at  the  end  perhaps  to  be  "  hardly 
saved,"  while  all  around  innumerable  souls  were  go 
ing  down,  without  hope  or  helper,  to  eternal  wrath ! 
What  for  at  all  had  God  made  man  for  such  a 
fate? 

For  that  he  had  not  made  man  for  such  ends  was  a 
fact  outside  their  understandings,  even  as  a  possibility ; 
and  its  very  suggestion  at  this  hour  would  have  ap 
peared  to  both  an  impiety  of  the  worst  kind.  So  they 
consoled  each  other  in  the  only  way  possible  to  souls 
at  once  so  miserable  and  so  submissive.  With  clasped 
hands  they  wept  together  over  the  inscrutable  fate 
which  had  set  them  so  hard  a  lesson  to  learn  as  life, 
with  so  little  light  to  learn  it  by. 

Natural  events  deepened  the  gloom  of  this  spiritual 
thraldom.  Storms  of  unusual  severity  swept  over  the 
bare,  brown  land,  and  the  fishing  was  not  only  dan 
gerous,  but  often  impossible.  But  David  regarded 
frost  and  snow,  stormy  winds  and  raging  seas,  poverty, 
pestilence,  and  death,  as  part  of  the  eternal  necessity 
pursuing  its  never-ending  work  through  discord  and 
imperfection.  When  there  was  a  possibility  of  cast 
ing  the  fifty  fathoms  of  ling-lines,  David  and  his 


178  PKISONEKS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

helpers  were  sure  to  venture  out ;  when  it  was  clearly 
impossible,  he  went  to  Nanna's  and  sat  with  her. 

To  the  ordinary  observer  there  did  not  seem  to  be 
pleasure  enough  in  these  visits  to  reward  him  for  the 
stormy  walk  over  the  moor.  His  clothing  was  often 
wet  or  stiff  with  frost,  or  he  was  breathless  with  fight 
ing  the  strong  wind,  and  not  infrequently  he  lost 
himself  in  the  bewildering  snow ;  but  with  some  trifle 
in  his  pocket  for  Nanna,  he  always  managed  to  reach 
her.  It  might  be  only  a  fish,  or  a  loaf  of  bread  which 
Barbara  had  baked  for  her,  or  a  little  fresh  milk  in  a 
bottle ;  but  it  was  an  offering  made  rich  by  that  true 
affection  which  counted  weariness  rest  for  her  sake. 

He  generally  found  her  sitting  brooding  by  her  peat 
fire.  Now,  peat  is  cheap  in  Shetland,  and  Nanna  had 
no  stint  of  the  fuel,  but  it  does  not  make  a  cheerful 
fire.  Its  want  of  flame  and  its  dull-red  glow  stimulate 
sorrowful  musing ;  and  as  there  is  little  radiation  of 
heat  from  it,  those  whom  it  warms  must  sit  close  to 
its  embers.  Thus  David  and  Nanna  passed  many 
hours  of  that  sad  winter.  The  snow  often  veiled  what 
light  of  day  there  was,  and  the  great  sea-winds  shrieked 
around  the  hut  and  blew  the  peat  smoke  down  the 
chimney  into  their  faces ;  and  there  was  little  warmth 
or  comfort,  and  none  of  the  pretty  accessories  that 
love  generally  delights  in. 

But  David's  love  was  not  dependent  upon  acciden 
tals.  He  had  seen  Nanna  when  he  thought  her  very 
finely  dressed;  he  had  watched  her  when  she  was 
happy  with  her  child  and  contented  with  his  friend 
ship  ;  but  she  was  not  then  more  beautiful  than  she 
was  now,  when  her  eyes  were  haunted  by  despairing 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  179 

thoughts,  and  her  face  white  and  sad,  and  her  noble 
form  was  shrouded  rather  than  dressed  in  the  black 
gown  of  her  loss  and  woe. 

To  David  she  was  ever  Nanna.  It  was  the  woman 
beneath  the  outward  form  he  desired— the  woman 
whose  tears  and  fears  and  wounded  love  were  part 
of  his  own  sufferings,  whose  despair  was  his  despair, 
whose  personality,  even,  affected  something  far  deeper 
and  chaster  than  that  physical  emotion  too  often  mis 
named  love.  He  knew  that  he  could  live  for  her, 
however  sorrowful  life  might  be;  he  knew  that  he 
could  gladly  die  for  her,  if  his  death  could  bring  her 
spiritual  peace  or  hope. 

Thus,  in  the  red  light  of  the  glowing  peats,  with  the 
stormy  world  around  them,  to  David  and  Nanna  the 
winter  months  wore  away.  When  Nanna  was  able  to 
weep  she  was  then  at  her  best— the  most  companion 
able,  the  most  grateful,  and  the  most  affectionate. 
And  few  would  think  such  circumstances  favorable 
to  the  growth  of  love;  but  that  is  a  great  mistake. 
Love  is  not  perfect  love  until  it  has  been  watered 
again  and  again  with  tears. 

Of  the  growth  of  this  affection  it  is  not  likely  either 
was  quite  unaware ;  but  there  is  an  instinctive  dislike 
in  a  pure  heart  to  investigate  the  beginnings  of  love. 
It  is  like  laying  bare  the  roots  of  a  flower  to  see 
how  it  grows.  And  in  Nanna's  case  there  was  even  a 
fear  of  such  a  condition.  Love  had  brought  her  only 
heartbreak  and  despair.  "Without  deliberate  intention, 
she  yet  grew  a  little  more  shy  of  David ;  she  began  to 
restrain  spiritual  confidence  and  to  weep  alone.  He 

was  not  slow  to  feel  the  change,  and  it  depressed  him, 

11* 


180  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

and  made  Barbara  wonder  at  Nanna's  ingratitude  and 
womanish  unreason. 

"  A  good  man  fretting  for  her  love,  when  there  are 
hearts  and  hearts  full  waiting  for  his  asking,"  she  said 
to  her  neighbor  Sally  Groat. 

And  Sally  answered :  "  Well,  well,  there  is  a  fool  in 
every  one's  sleeve  sometimes;  and  David  Borson  is 
that  daft  about  blood-kin,  there  is  no  talking  to  him. 
But  this  is  what  I  say:  for  all  your  kindred,  make 
much  of  your  friends— and  a  friend  you  have  been  to 
him,  Barbara." 

"  Well,  then,  I  have  done  my  best ;  and  friends  are 
to  be  taken  with  their  faults.  To-day  I  shall  talk  to 
David ;  for  the  spring  comes  on  so  quickly,  and  I  heard 
that  my  son's  ship  had  been  spoke  in  the  Iceland  seas.'' 

"It  is  long  now  since  Nanna's  baby  died,  and  she 
still  weeps  without  end  for  her.  She  ought  to  try  and 
forget.  It  was  but  a  sickly  child,  and  never  like  to  be 
world- wise  or  world-useful." 

"  I  would  n't  say  such  words,  Sally,"  answered  Bar 
bara,  with  some  warmth.  "  No  one  can  tell  a  mother, 
'  Thy  heart  shall  not  remember.'  I  have  laid  in  earth 
five  children,  and  do  you  think  I  ever  slunk  away 
from  heartache  by  forgetting  them  ?  No,  indeed !  I 
would  have  counted  that  treason  against  my  own  soul." 

"  God's  blessing !  there  is  none  wants  to  contradict 
you,  Barbara.  Don't  be  so  hasty,  woman.  But  you 
know  there  has  been  death  and  weeping  in  many 
houses  besides  Nanna's  this  winter." 

"  To  be  sure,"  acknowledged  Barbara.  "  Death  has 
asked  no  man's  leave  to  enter;  he  has  gone  into  the 
rich  man's  house  as  well  as  into  poor  Nanna's  hut." 


A  SACEIFICE  ACCEPTED  181 

"  Every  door  is  wide  enough  for  a  coffin." 

"Yes;  and  the  minister  said  last  Sabbath  that  it 
was  this  which  dissatisfied  us  with  these  habitations 
of  clay,  and  made  us  lift  our  eyes  to  those  eternal  in 
the  heavens." 

"Well,  then,  to  come  back  to  David,"  said  Sally, 
"  he  is  good,  and  able  to  marry.  He  has  saved  money, 
no  doubt.  Some  young  men  spend  their  last  bawbee, 
and  just  live  between  ebb  and  flow.  That  is  n't  David 
Borson.  Besides,  Barbara,  you  ought  to  tell  him  how 
people  are  talking." 

"  I  may  do  that.  David  is  imprudent,  and  Nanna 
is  too  miserable  to  care.  Well,  then,  those  who  kin 
dle  the  fire  must  put  up  with  the  smoke ;  yet,  for  all 
that,  I  shall  have  a  word  or  two  for  him,  and  that  very 
soon." 

David  had  been  at  sea  all  night,  and  while  this  con 
versation  was  going  on  he  was  sleeping ;  but  in  the 
afternoon,  as  Barbara  saw  him  preparing  to  go  to 
Nanna's,  she  said : 

"  Stay  a  minute,  David  Borson.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you.  I  had  good  news  early  this  morning.  My  son's 
ship  was  met  not  so  far  away,  and  he  may  get  home 
at  any  time,  and  me  not  thinking  of  it." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Barbara.  Then,  also,  you 
will  want  my  room.  I  must  look  for  a  new  place,  and 
that  is  bad  for  me." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Nanna  Sinclair,"  said  Barbara, 
in  a  musing  manner.  "  People  do  talk  about  you  and 
her.  I  have  heard  say—" 

" '  I  have  heard  say '  is  half  a  lie,"  answered  David. 

u  I  think  that  too ;  but  Nanna's  good  name  is  to  be 


182  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

thought  of,  and  a  man  does  not  go  every  day  to  see  a 
woman  for  nothing." 

Then  David  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  face  like  a 
flame.  "  The  shortest  and  best  answer  is  doing  the 
thing,"  he  muttered;  and  he  walked  straight  to 
Nanna's  house,  telling  himself  as  he  went,  "I  have 
been  too  long  about  it;  I  must  speak  now,  and  she 
must  answer  me." 

He  was  in  his  fishing-garb,  for  he  intended  going 
to  sea  with  the  tide  then  rising;  but  he  thought  no 
more  of  dressing  for  the  interview  than  he  thought  of 
preparing  his  speeches.  Hitherto  he  had  in  a  manner 
drifted  with  the  current  of  his  great  affection,  never 
consciously  asking  himself  where  it  was  bearing  him ; 
but  if  people  were  talking  about  Nanna,  then  he  must 
take  away  all  occasion  for  suspicion— he  must  at  once 
ask  Nanna  to  be  his  wife.  And  as  soon  as  he  took  the 
first  step  toward  her  he  felt  how  close  and  dear  she 
had  become  to  him.  He  knew  then  that  if  Nanna  was 
lost  all  the  world  would  be  nothing.  She  had  grown 
into  his  life  as  the  sea  and  the  stars  had  grown,  and 
he  shrank  from  any  thought  that  could  imply  separa 
tion.  He  walked  with  rapid  steps  across  the  moor, 
feeling  dimly  the  beauty  of  the  spring  afternoon,  with 
its  haze  of  gold  and  purple  on  the  horizon,  where  the 
gray  clouds  opened  out  in  wistful  stretches  of  daffo 
dil  skies. 

The  door  of  Nanna's  house  stood  open,  and  the 
wind,  full  of  the  sharp  salt  savor  of  the  sea,  blew  life 
into  the  little  room.  Nanna  was  busy  with  her  knit 
ting,  and  the  soft,  lace-like  shawl  lay  upon  her  knee. 
David  shut  the  door  and  went  to  her  side.  His  heart 


A  SACKIFICE  ACCEPTED  183 

was  too  full  to  hesitate  or  to  choose  words  5  the  sim 
plest  were  the  best. 

"  Nanna,  I  have  found  out  that  I  love  you,"  he  said. 
"Nanna,  dearest  woman,  do  you  hear  me?" 

Then  her  cheeks  burned  rosy,  and  she  looked  at 
David,  and  her  hands  trembled,  and  the  work  fell  from 
them. 

"  Love  me  a  little,  my  dear !     Love  me,  Nanna !  " 

"  I  do  love  you,  David.  Who  in  all  the  world  have 
I  but  you  ? "  And  the  beautiful  woman  stood  up,  and 
he  took  her  within  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

For  a  moment  or  two  David  was  happy.  His  large, 
fair  face  shone ;  he  laughed  softly  as  he  drew  Nanna 
to  his  breast.  He  was  really  as  intoxicated  with  joy 
as  some  men  are  with  wine. 

"We  will  be  married  next  week,  Nanna,"  he  said; 
"  this  week— to-morrow,  if  you  will.  It  has  come  to 
this :  I  must  leave  Barbara,  and  there  is  a  house  empty 
close  to  the  quay,  and  it  shall  be  our  home,  Nanna ; 
for  I  have  sixty  pounds,  my  dear  woman,  and  at  last, 
at  last—" 

Before  he  reached  this  point  he  was  sensible  of 
some  chill  or  dissent,  but  he  was  not  prepared  for 
Nanna's  answer: 

"  David,  why  do  you  talk  of  marrying  ?  It  is  ever 
that.  I  will  not  marry." 

"  Not  yet,  Nanna  ?  Is  it  too  soon  ?  But  why  for  a 
dead  man  will  you  keep  me  waiting  ? " 

"  I  think  not  of  any  dead  man." 

"  Is  it  Vala  ?    Vala  would  rejoice  in  our  happiness." 

"  I  will  not  marry— no,  not  any  man  living." 

"Why  did  you  say  that  you  loved  me?" 


184  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  I  do  love  you." 

"  No  j  you  do  not." 

He  put  her  gently  away  from  him,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  somber  sternness.  "  You  do  not  love  me,"  he 
continued.  "  If  you  did,  you  would  put  me  first ;  you 
would  say,  '  I  will  be  your  wife.'  You  would  delight 
to  make  me  happy— I,  who  have  never  been  happy  but 
in  sharing  your  joys  and  sorrows." 

"  O  David,  I  do  love  you !  " 

"  Then  be  my  wife." 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot !  " 

"  Then  you  love  me  as  light,  vain  women  love :  to 
make  slaves  of  men,  and  bring  them  back  and  back  to 
be  hurt.  It  is  not  to  be  so  with  me.  No,  indeed! 
Farewell,  Nanna." 

His  voice  failed  him.  He  turned  toward  the  door, 
and  for  a  moment  Nanna  could  not  realize  that  he  was 
actually  bidding  her  a  final  farewell.  When  she  did 
she  flew  to  his  side,  and  arrested  his  hand  as  he  was 
opening  the  door. 

"  Come  back !  Come  back,  David !  "  she  entreated. 
"You  are  all  wrong;  you  are  very  cruel  to  me.  If 
you  leave  me  it  will  break  my  heart !  It  will  be  the 
last  blow,  David.  It  is  the  very  truth." 

He  hesitated  enough  to  make  Nanna  weep  with 
passionate  distress,  and  this  emotion  he  was  not  able 
to  bear.  He  took  her  within  his  arm  again,  led  her  to 
a  chair,  and  sat  down  at  her  side,  and  as  he  kissed  the 
tears  from  her  face  said : 

"  If  indeed  you  do  love  me,  Nanna—" 

"  If  I  do  love  you !  "  she  interrupted.  "  I  love  none 
but  you.  You  are  heart  of  my  heart  and  soul  of  my 
soul.  I  hear  you  coming  when  you  are  half  a  mile 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  185 

away.  I  have  no  joy  but  when  you  are  beside  me.  I 
shall  die  of  grief  if  you  leave  me  in  anger.  I  would 
count  it  heaven  and  earth  to  be  your  wife,  but  I  dare 
not !  I  dare  not !  " 

She  was  sobbing  piteously  when  she  ended  this  prot 
estation,  and  David  comforted  her  with  caresses  and 
tender  words.  "What  fears  you,  Nanna?"  he  asked. 
"Oh,  my  dear,  what  fears  you?" 

"  This  is  what  I  fear,"  she  answered,  freeing  herself 
from  his  embrace,  and  looking  steadily  at  him.  "  This 
is  what  I  fear,  David.  If  we  were  married  I  might 
have  another  child— I  might  have  many  children." 

Then  he  clasped  her  hand  tightly,  for  he  began  to 
see  where  Nanna  was  leading  him,  as  she  continued 
with  slow  solemnity : 

"  Can  you,  can  the  minister,  can  any  human  being, 
give  me  assurance  they  will  be  elect  children?  If 
you  can,  I  will  be  your  wife  to-morrow.  If  you  can 
not,  as  the  God  of  my  father  lives,  I  will  not  bring 
sons  and  daughters  into  life  for  sin  and  sorrow  here, 
and  for  perdition  hereafter.  The  devil  shall  not  so  use 
my  body !  To  people  hell  ?  No ;  I  will  not— not  even 
for  your  love,  David  !  " 

Her  words,  so  passionate  and  positive,  moved  him 
deeply.  He  was  the  old  David  again— the  light,  the 
gladness,  all  but  the  tender,  mournful  love  of  the  past, 
gone  from  his  face.  He  held  both  her  hands,  and  he 
looked  down  at  them  lying  in  his  own  as  he  answered : 

"  Both  of  us  are  His  children,  Nanna.  We  are  His 
by  generations  and  by  covenant.  He  has  promised 
mercy  to  such.  Well,  then,  we  may  have  a  reasonable 
hope—" 

"  Hope !     No,  no,  David !     I  must  have  something 


186  PRISONEKS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

better  than  hope.  I  hoped  for  Vala,  and  my  hope  has 
been  my  hell.  And  as  for  the  child— my  God !  where 
is  the  child?" 

"We  love  God,  Nanna,  and  the  children  of  the 
righteous—" 

"Are  no  safer  than  the  children  of  the  wicked, 
David.  I  have  thought  of  this  continually.  There 
was  John  Beaton's  son ;  he  killed  a  man,  and  died  on 
the  gallows-tree,  to  the  shame  and  the  heartbreak  of 
his  good  father  and  mother.  The  lad  had  been  bap 
tized,  too,— given  to  God  when  he  drew  his  first  breath, 
—and  God  must  have  rejected  him.  Minister  Stuart's 
son  forged  a  note,  and  was  sent  with  felons  across  the 
sea.  His  father  and  mother  had  prayed  for  him  all 
the  days  of  his  life ;  he  was  brought  to  the  kirk  and 
given  to  God  in  baptism ;  and  God  must  have  rejected 
him  also.  Think  of  good  Stephen  and  Anna  Blair's 
children.  Their  daughter's  name  cannot  be  spoken 
any  more,  and  their  sons  are  bringing  down  their 
gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave— with  sorrow  and 
shame  too.  Go  through  the  whole  kirk,  the  whole 
town,  the  islands  themselves,  and  you  will  be  forced 
to  say,  David,  that  it  is  the  children  of  the  righteous 
that  go  to  the  devil." 

"  Nanna !  Nanna !  " 

"It  is  the  truth,  David.  How  the  good  God  can 
treat  his  bairns  so,  I  know  not ;  but  you  and  I  may 
also  deserve  his  wrath  in  like  manner.  I  am  feared 
to  hope  different.  O  David,  I  am  feared  to  be  a 
mother  again ! " 

"  Nanna !  Nanna !  what  can  I  say  ? " 

"There  is  nothing  to  say.     If  I  should  meet  Vala 


A   SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  187 

in  that  place  where  infants  '  earnestly  desire  to  see  and 
love  God,  and  yet  are  not  able  to  do  so/ 1  should  cover 
my  face  before  the  child.  If  she  blamed  me,  I  should 
shiver  in  speechless  agony ;  if  she  did  not  blame  me, 
it  would  be  still  harder  to  bear.  Were  we  only  sure 
—but  we  are  not  sure." 

"  We  are  not  sure."  David  repeated  the  words  with 
a  sad  significance.  Nanna's  argument,  evolved  from 
her  own  misery  and  illustrated  by  that  misery,  had 
been  before  David's  eyes  for  months.  He  could  not 
escape  from  such  reasoning  and  from  such  proof, 
and  his  whole  life,  education,  and  experience  went  to 
enforce  the  pitiful  dilemma  in  which  their  love  had 
placed  them. 

"It  is  His  will,  and  we  must  bear  it  to  the  utter 
most,"  continued  Nanna,  with  a  sorrowful  resignation. 

"  I  am  very  wretched,  Nanna." 

"  So  am  I,  David,  very  wretched  indeed.  I  used  to 
think  monks  and  nuns,  and  such  as  made  a  merit  of 
not  marrying,  were  all  wrong ;  maybe  they  are  nearer 
right  than  we  think  for.  Doubtless  they  have  a  tender 
conscience  toward  God,  and  a  tender  conscience  is  what 
he  loves." 

Then  David  rose  from  Nanna's  side  and  walked 
rapidly  to  and  fro  in  the  room.  Motion  helped  him 
to  no  solution  of  the  tremendous  difficulty.  And 
Nanna's  patient  face,  her  fixed  outward  gaze,  the 
spiritual  light  of  resolute  decision  in  her  eyes,  gave  to 
her  appearance  an  austere  beauty  that  made  him  feel 
as  if  this  offering  up  of  their  love  and  all  its  earthly 
sweetness  was  a  sacrifice  already  tied  to  the  horns  of 
the  altar,  and  fully  accepted. 


188  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Now,  the  law  of  duty  lay  very  close  to  David's 
thoughts ;  it  was  an  ever-present  consciousness,  haunt 
ing  his  very  being;  but  the  sensual  nature  always 
shrinks  away  from  it.  David  sat  down  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  and  began  to  weep— to  sob  as 
strong  men  sob  when  their  sorrow  is  greater  than  they 
can  bear ;  as  they  never  sob  until  the  last  drop,  the 
bitterest  drop  of  all,  is  added— the  belief  that  God 
has  forsaken  them.  This  was  the  agony  which  tore 
David's  great,  fond  heart  in  two.  It  forced  from  him 
the  first  pitiful  words  of  reproach  against  his  God : 

"  I  was  sure  at  last  that  I  was  going  to  be  happy, 
and  God  is  not  willing.  From  my  youth  up  he  has 
ay  laid  upon  me  the  rod  of  correction.  I  wish  that 
I  had  never  been  born ! " 

"  My  poor  lad !  but  you  are  not  meaning  it."  And 
Nanna  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  wept  with 
him.  For  some  minutes  he  let  her  do  so,  for  he  was 
comforted  by  her  sympathy ;  but  at  last  he  stood  up, 
passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  said  as  bravely 
as  he  could : 

"  You  are  right,  Nanna.  If  you  feel  in  this  way,  I 
dare  not  force  your  conscience.  But  I  must  go  away 
until  I  get  over  the  sore  disappointment." 

"  Where  will  you  go  to,  David  ? " 

"Who  can  tell?  The  countries  in  which  I  may 
have  to  earn  and  eat  my  bread  I  know  not.  But  if  I 
was  seeing  you  every  day,  I  might  get  to  feel  hard  at 
God." 

"No,  no!  He  fashioned  us,  David,  and  he  knows 
what  falls  and  sore  hurts  we  must  get  before  we  learn 
to  step  sure  and  safe." 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  189 

"  In  the  end  it  may  all  be  right.  I  know  not.  But 
this  I  know :  pain  and  cold  and  hunger  and  weariness 
and  loneliness  I  have  borne  with  a  prayer  and  a  tight 
mouth,  and  I  have  never  said  before  that  I  thought 
him  cruel  hard." 

"His  ways  are  not  cruel,  my  dear  love;  they  are 
only  past  our  finding  out.  The  eternal  which  makes 
for  righteousness  cannot  be  cruel.  And  if  we  could 
see  God  with  our  eyes,  and  hear  him  with  our  ears, 
and  understand  him  with  our  reason,  what  grace 
would  there  be  in  believing  in  him?  Did  not  the 
minister  say  last  Sabbath  that  our  life  was  hid  with 
Christ  in  God,  and  that  therefore  God  must  first  be 
pierced  ere  we  could  be  hurt  or  prejudiced?  Then 
let  us  take  what  comfort  we  can  in  each  other's  affec 
tion,  David,  and  just  try  and  believe  that  God's  ways 
are  the  very  best  of  all  ways  for  us." 

"  Sometime— perhaps— " 

"  And  don't  leave  me,  David.  I  can  bear  all  things 
if  you  are  near  to  help  and  comfort  me." 

"  Ay,  ay ;  but  women  are  different.  I  cannot  fight 
the  temptation  when  I  am  in  it;  I  must  run  away 
from  it.  Farewell !  Oh,  dear,  dear  Nanna,  farewell !  " 

He  kissed  the  words  upon  her  lips,  and  went  hastily 
out  of  the  house ;  but  when  he  had  walked  about  one 
hundred  yards  he  returned.  Nanna  had  thrown  her 
self  despairingly  upon  the  rude  couch  made  for  Vala, 
and  on  which  the  child  had  spent  most  of  her  life. 
There  Nanna  lay  like  one  dead.  David  knelt  down  by 
her;  he  took  her  within  his  arms,  kissed  her  closed 
eyes,  and  murmured  again  upon  her  lips  his  last  words 
of  love  and  sorrow.  Her  patient  acceptance  of  her 


190  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

hard  lot  made  him  quiver  with  pain,  but  he  knew  well 
that  for  a  time,  at  least,  they  must  each  bear  their  grief 
alone. 

Nanna's  confession  of  her  love  for  him  had  made 
everything  different.  In  her  presence  now  he  had  not 
the  power  to  control  his  longing  for  reciprocal  affec 
tion.  He  felt  already  a  blind  resentment  and  rebellion 
against  fate— a  sense  of  wrong,  which  it  was  hard  to 
submit  to.  But  how  could  he  fight  circumstances 
whose  foundations  were  in  eternity  ?  At  this  hour,  at 
least,  he  had  come  to  the  limit  of  his  reason  and  his 
endurance.  Again  and  again  he  kissed  Nanna  fare 
well,  and  it  was  like  tearing  his  life  asunder  when  he 
put  away  her  clinging  arms  and  left  her  alone  with 
the  terrible  problem  that  separated  their  lives. 

There  is  something  worse  than  the  pang  of  keenest 
suffering— the  passive  state  of  a  subjugated  heart.  A 
dismal,  sullen  stillness  succeeded  to  David's  angry 
sorrow.  He  avoided  Barbara  and  shut  himself  in  his 
room.  And  his  strong  and  awful  prepossession  in 
favor  of  the  Bible  led  him,  first  of  all,  to  go  to  the 
book.  But  he  found  no  help  there.  His  soul  was 
tossed  from  top  to  bottom,  and  he  was  vanquished  by 
the  war  in  his  own  bosom.  For  in  our  wrestling  alone 
angels  do  not  always  come.  And  David  brought  his 
dogmas  over  and  over  to  the  Scriptures,  and  was 
crushed  spiritually  between  them,  so  that  at  last,  worn 
out  with  the  mental  and  heart  struggle,  he  submitted 
to  the  fatality  he  could  not  alter. 

"  I  will  go  the  right  road,"  he  said,  "  however  cruel 
that  road  may  be.  Then  death  may  give  me  back  to 
God  a  miserable  man,  but  not  a  guilty  one." 


A  SACRIFICE  ACCEPTED  191 

And  he  did  not  comprehend  that,  in  thus  preferring 
an  unseen  duty  because  it  was  right  to  a  seen  pleasure 
because  it  was  pleasant,  he  was  consummating  that 
sublime  act  of  faith  whose  cry  of  victory  is,  "Thy 
will  be  done." 

Nanna  did  not  suffer  so  much.  In  the  first  place, 
the  pale,  sad,  almost  despairing  woman  was  glad  and 
dared,  in  her  despair,  because  the  man  she  loved 
durst  not  sin,  even  for  her.  In  the  second,  her  battle 
was  practically  over.  She  had  been  in  the  van  of  it 
for  months,  and  had  come  gradually  to  that  state  of 
submission  which  fears  to  resist,  lest  resistance  might 
be  found  to  be  fighting  against  God.  While  David 
was  yet  in  an  agony  of  struggle  with  his  love  and  his 
desires,  his  tender  conscience  and  his  dread  of  offend 
ing  the  Deity,  Nanna  had  washed  away  her  tears,  and 
was  strengthening  her  heart  by  saying  continually,  as 
the  glancing  needles  glided  to  and  fro : 

My  God  and  Father,  while  I  stray 
Far  from  my  home,  on  life's  rough  way, 
Oh,  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 
"Thy  will  be  done!" 

For  some  dauntless,  primitive  confidence  in  the  love 
of  the  Maker  of  men  is  older  than  any  creed.  And 
there  were  yet  hours  when  Nanna's  soul  outleaped  its 
mortal  shadow  and  had  mystic  flashes,  native  and 
sweet,  beyond  the  reach  of  will  and  endeavor— intima 
tions  of  serenities  and  compensations  which  would  be 
neither  small  nor  long  delayed. 


12 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH 

OLDING  despair  at  bay,  David  quickly 
made  his  preparations  for  an  extended 
absence.     He  hired  his  boat  and  lines  to 
Groat's  sons,  and  on  the  morning  of  the 
second  day,  after  bidding  Nanna  fare 
well,  he  went  to  Minister  Campbell's  to  complete  his 
arrangements.     The  minister  was  writing  his  sermon, 
and  he  was  not  pleased  at  the  interruption ;  but  when 
he  saw  David's  face,  the  shadow  of  annoyance  on  his 
own  passed  away  like  a  thought.     He  dropped  his 
pen,  and  turned  in  his  chair  so  as  to  see  the  young 
man  fairly,  and  then  he  asked : 
"  What  is  wrong,  David  ? " 
"I  am  all  at  sea,  minister,  drifting— drifting— " 
"  Where  's  your  anchor,  David  ?    Can't  you  steady 
yourself  on  God  ?    Can't  you  make  harbor  someway  ? " 
David  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"  Then  up  sail  and  out  to  sea,  and  face  the  storm. 
What  quarter  is  it  from  ? " 
"  It  comes  from  a  woman." 

"Ah,  David,  that  is  bad  to  buffet.    I  have  been 
192 


IN  THE  FOUKTH  WATCH  195 

through  it.  It  was  that  storm  which  brought  me  here. 
I  know  all  about  it." 

"  Please,  minister,  I  think  not.   It  is  Nanna  Sinclair." 

" I  thought  so.     You  love  her,  David? " 

"  Better  than  my  life." 

"  And  she  does  not  love  you?" 

"  She  loves  me  as  I  love  her." 

"  Then  what  is  there  to  make  you  miserable  ?  In  a 
few  months,  David,  you  will  marry  her  and  be  happy." 

"  Nanna  will  not  marry  me  in  a  few  months— she 
will  not  marry  me  at  all." 

"  Nanna  ought  not  to  trouble  a  good  man  with  such 
threats.  Of  course  she  will  marry.  Why  not  ? " 

Then  David  told  the  minister  "  why  not."  He  lis 
tened  at  first  with  incredulity,  and  then  with  anger. 
"  Nanna  Sinclair  is  guilty  of  great  presumption,"  he 
answered.  "Why  should  she  sift  God's  ordination 
and  call  in  question  results  she  is  not  able  to  under 
stand?  Marriage  is  in  the  direct  command  of  God, 
and  good  men  and  women  innumerable  have  obeyed 
the  command  without  disputing.  It  is  Nanna's  place 
to  take  gratefully  the  love  God  has  sent  her— to  obey, 
and  not  to  argue.  Obedience  is  the  first  round  of  the 
ascending  ladder,  David ;  and  when  any  one  casts  it 
off,  he  makes  even  the  commencement  of  spiritual  life 
impossible." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  and  more  as  if  he  was  trying  to 
convince  himself  than  to  console  David.  His  words, 
in  any  case,  made  no  impression.  David  listened  in 
his  shy,  sensitive,  uncomplaining  way,  but  the  minister 
was  quite  aware  he  had  touched  only  the  outermost 
edge  of  feeling.  David's  eyes,  usually  mild  and  large, 


196  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

had  now  his  soul  at  their  window.  It  was  not  always 
there,  but  when  present  it  infected  and  went  through 
those  upon  whom  it  looked.  The  minister  could  not 
bear  the  glance.  He  rose,  and  gently  pushed  David 
into  a  chair,  and  laid  his  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  steadily  at  him.  He  could  see  that  a  gap  had 
been  made  in  his  life,  and  that  the  bright,  strong  man 
had  emerged  from  it  withered  and  stricken.  He  sat 
down  by  his  side  and  said : 

"  Talk,  David.     TeU  me  all." 

And  David  told  him  all,  and  the  two  men  wept  to 
gether.  Yet,  though  much  that  David  said  went  like 
a  two-edged  sword  through  the  minister's  convictions, 
he  resented  the  thrust,  and  held  on  to  his  stern  plan 
of  sin  and  retribution  like  grim  death,  all  the  more  so 
because  he  felt  it  to  be  unconsciously  attacked.  And 
when  David  said :  "  It  is  the  Shorter  Catechism,  min 
ister  ;  it  is  a  hard  book  for  women  and  bairns,  and  I 
wonder  why  they  don't  teach  them  from  the  Scriptures, 
which  are  easy  and  full  of  grace,"  the  answer  came  with 
a  passionate  fervor  that  was  the  protest  for  much  be 
sides  the  catechism. 

"  David!  David!  You  must  say  nothing  against  the 
Shorter  Catechism.  It  is  the  Magna  Charta  of  Cal 
vinism,  and  woe  worth  the  day  for  dear  old  Scotland 
when  its  silver  trumpet  shall  no  longer  be  heard 
and  listened  to.  Its  rules  and  bonds  and  externals 
are  all  very  necessary.  Believe  me,  David,  few  men 
would  remain  religious  without  rules  and  bonds  and 
externals." 

"  I  am,  as  I  said,  minister,  all  at  sea.  I  find  noth 
ing  within  my  soul,  nothing  within  my  life-experience, 


IN  THE  FOUETH  WATCH  197 

to  give  me  any  hope,  and  I  am  going  away  a  miserable 
man." 

"  David,  your  hope  is  not  to  be  grounded  on  any 
thing  within  yourself  or  your  life-experience.  When 
you  wish  to  steady  your  boat,  do  you  fix  your  anchor 
on  anything  within  it,  or  do  you  cast  your  anchor 
outside  ? " 

"  I  cast  it  out." 

"  So  the  soul  must  cast  out  its  anchor,  and  lay  hold, 
not  on  anything  within  itself,  but  on  the  hope  set  be 
fore  it.  The  anchor  of  your  boat  often  drags,  David, 
and  you  drift  in  spite  of  it,  for  there  is  no  sure  bottom ; 
but  the  soul  that  anchors  on  the  truth  of  God,  the 
immutability  of  his  counsels,  the  faithfulness  of  his 
promises,  is  surely  steadfast.  .  For  I  will  tell  you  a 
great  thing,  David:  God  has  given  us  this  double 
guaranty— he  has  not  only  said,  but  sworn  it." 

Thus  the  two  men  talked  the  morning  away.  Then 
David  remembered  that  he  had  come  specially  to  ask 
the  minister  to  write  out  his  will  and  take  charge  of 
the  money  he  would  leave  behind  and  the  rents  ac 
cruing  from  the  hire  of  his  boat  and  lines.  There  was 
nothing  unusual  in  this  request.  Minister  Campbell 
had  already  learned  how  averse  Shetlanders  are  to 
having  dealings  with  a  lawyer,  and  he  was  quite  will 
ing  to  take  the  charge  David  desired  to  impose  upon 
him. 

"I  may  not  come  back  to  Shetland,"  David  said. 
"My  father  went  away  and  never  returned.  I  am 
bound  for  foreign  seas,  and  I  may  go  down  any  day 
or  night.  All  I  have  is  Nanna's.  If  she  is  sick  or  in 
trouble,  you  will  see  to  her  relief,  minister.  And  if  I 
12* 


198  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

come  not  back  in  five  years,  sell  the  boat  and  lines  and 
make  over  all  to  Nanna  Sinclair." 

Then  a  writing  was  drawn  up  to  this  effect;  and 
David  brushed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  with  his  right 
hand,  and  put  it,  wet  with  them,  into  the  minister's. 
He  had  nothing  more  to  say  with  his  lips,  but  oh,  how 
eloquent  were  his  great,  sad,  imploring  eyes !  They 
went  together  to  the  manse  door,  and  then  the  minis 
ter  followed  him  to  the  gate  of  the  small  croft.  And 
as  they  stood,  one  on  either  side  of  it,  David  murmured : 

"  Good-by,  minister." 

"  Good-by,  David,  and  see  that  you  don't  think  hardly 
of  either  your  God  or  your  creed.  Your  God  will  be 
your  guide,  even  unto  death ;  and  as  for  your  creed, 
whatever  faults  men  may  find  in  it,  this  thing  is  sure : 
Calvinism  is  the  highest  form  ever  yet  assumed  by  the 
moral  life  of  the  world." 

The  next  morning,  in  the  cold  white  light  of  the 
early  dawn,  David  left  Lerwick.  The  blue  moon  was 
low  in  the  west,  the  mystery  and  majesty  of  earth  all 
around  him.  At  this  hour  the  sea  was  dark  and  quiet, 
the  birds  being  still  asleep  upon  their  rocky  perches, 
and  the  only  noise  was  the  flapping  of  the  sails,  and 
the  water  purring  softly  with  little  treble  sounds 
among  the  clincher  chains  and  against  the  sides  of  the 
boat.  David  was  a  passenger  on  the  mail-boat.  He 
had  often  seen  her  at  a  distance,  but  now,  being  on 
board,  he  looked  her  over  with  great  interest.  She 
seemed  to  be  nearly  as  broad  as  she  was  long,  very 
bluff  at  the  bows,  and  so  strongly  built  that  he  invol 
untarily  asked  the  man  at  the  wheel:  "What  kind 
of  seas  at  all  is  this  boat  built  for  ? " 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  199 

"  She  's  built  for  the  Pentland  Firth  seas,  my  lad, 
weather  permitting.  And  there  's  no  place  on  God's 
land  or  water  where  them  two  words  mean  so  much ; 
for  I  can  tell  you,  weather  not  permitting,  even  this 
boat  could  n't  live  in  them." 

Gradually  David  made  his  way  to  Glasgow,  and 
from  Glasgow  to  London.  Queen  Victoria  had  then 
just  been  crowned,  and  one  day  David  saw  her  out  driv 
ing.  The  royal  carriage,  with  its  milk-white  horses, 
its  splendid  outriders  and  appointments,  and  its  mili 
tary  escort,  made  a  great  impression  on  him,  but  the 
fair,  girlish  face  of  the  young,  radiant  queen  he  never 
forgot.  Hitherto  kings  and  queens  had  been  only  a 
part  of  his  Bible  history;  he  had  not  realized  their 
relation  to  his  own  life.  Shetland  was  so  far  from 
London  that  newspapers  seldom  reached  Lerwick. 
Politics  were  no  factor  in  its  social  or  religious  life. 
The  civil  lords  came  to  try  criminal  cases,  but  the 
minister  was  the  abiding  power.  Until  David  saw 
the  young  queen  he  had  not  heard  of  her  accession 
to  the  throne,  but  with  the  first  knowledge  of  her 
"right"  there  sprang  up  in  his  heart  the  loyalty  she 
claimed.  Had  any  one  asked  him  in  that  hour  to  en 
ter  her  service,  he  would  have  stepped  on  board  her 
war-ships  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm. 

But  nobody  did  ask  him,  and  he  found  more  com 
monplace  employment  on  the  Elizabeth,  a  trig,  well- 
built  schooner,  trading  to  the  Mediterranean  for  fruits 
and  other  products  of  the  Orient.  The  position  was 
the  very  one  his  father  had  so  earnestly  desired. 
Touching  first  at  one  historic  city  and  then  at  another, 
living  in  the  sunshine,  and  seeing  the  most  picturesque 


200  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

side  of  civilization,  David  added  continually  to  the  store 
of  those  impressions  which  go  to  make  up  the  best  part 
of  life. 

The  captain  of  the  Elizabeth  owned  the  vessel  and 
was  very  fond  of  her ;  consequently  he  was  not  long 
in  finding  out  the  splendid  sea  qualities  of  the  young 
Shetlander.  On  the  fourth  voyage  he  made  David  his 
mate,  and  together  they  managed  the  Elizabeth  so 
cleverly  that  she  became  famous  for  her  speed  and 
good  fortune.  It  was  indeed  wonderful  to  see  what 
consciousness  and  sympathy  they  endowed  her  with. 

"  Elizabeth  is  behaving  well,"  the  captain  said  one 
morning,  as  he  watched  her  swelling  canvas  and  noted 
her  speed. 

"  There  is  n'tmuch  sea  on,"  answeredDavid ;  "  hardly 
more  than  what  we  used  to  call  in  Shetland '  a  northerly 
lipper.'  But  yet  I  don't  like  the  look  to  the  eastward 
and  the  nor'ard." 

"  Nor  I.  You  had  better  tell  Elizabeth.  Talk  to  her, 
David;  coax  her  to  hurry  and  get  out  of  the  bay. 
Promise  her  a  new  coat  of  paint ;  say  that  I  think  of 
having  her  figurehead  gilded." 

David  was  used  to  hearing  Elizabeth  treated  as  if 
she  were  a  living,  reasonable  creature,  but  he  always 
smiled  kindly  at  the  imputation ;  it  touched  something 
kindred  in  his  own  heart,  and  he  replied : 

"  She  '11  do  her  best  if  she 's  well  handled.  It 's  her 
life  as  well  as  ours,  you  know." 

"  It  is ;  anybody  knows  that.  If  you  ever  went  into 
shipping  and  insurance  offices,  David,  you  would  hear 
even  landsmen  say  so.  They  make  all  their  calcula 
tions  on  the  average  life  of  a  ship.  My  lad,  men  build 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  201 

her  of  wood  and  iron,  but  there  is  something  more  in 
a  good  ship  than  wood  and  iron." 

"  Look  to  the  east,  captain." 

Then  there  was  the  boatswain's  whistle,  and  the 
shout  of  sailormen,  and  the  taking  in  of  sails,  and  that 
hurrying  and  scurrying  to  make  a  ship  trig  which 
precedes  the  certain  coming  of  a  great  storm.  And 
the  Bay  of  Biscay  is  bad  quarters  in  any  weather,  but 
in  a  storm  it  defies  adequate  description.  When  the 
wind  has  an  iron  ring  and  calls  like  a  banshee,  and  the 
waves  rise  to  its  order  as  high  as  the  masthead,  then 
God  help  the  men  and  ships  on  the  Bay  of  Biscay ! 

Five  days  after  the  breaking  of  this  storm  the  Eliz 
abeth  was  sorely  in  need  of  such  potential  help.  Her 
masts  were  gone,  the  waves  were  doubling  over  her, 
-  and  her  plunges  were  like  the  dive  of  a  whale.  At  the 
wheel  there  was  a  man  lashed,— for  the  hull  was  seldom 
above  water,— and  this  man  was  David  Borson.  He 
was  the  only  sailor  left  strong  enough  for  the  work, 
and  he  was  at  the  last  point  of  endurance.  The  icy 
gusts  roared  past  him ;  the  spray  was  like  flying  whip 
lashes  ;  and  it  was  pitiful  to  see  David,  with  his  bleed 
ing  hands  on  the  wheel,  stolidly  shaking  his  head  as 
the  spray  cut  him. 

He  had  been  on  deck  for  forty  hours,  buffeted  by 
the  huge  waves,  and  he  was  covered  with  salt-water 
boils.  His  feet  were  flayed  and  frozen,  and  his  hands 
so  gashed  that  he  dared  not  close  or  rest  them,  lest 
the  agony  of  unclasping  or  moving  them  again  should 
make  him  lose  his  consciousness.  He  feared,  also, 
that  his  feet  were  so  badly  frozen  that  he  would  never 
be  able  to  walk  on  them  any  more.  These  miseries 


202  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

others  were  sharing  with  him ;  but  David  had  been 
struck  by  a  falling  spar  at  the  beginning  of  the  storm, 
and  there  was  now  an  abscess  forming  on  his  lung  that 
tortured  him  beyond  his  usual  speechless  patience. 
"  God  pity  me ! "  he  moaned.  "  G-od  pity  me !  " 

When  the  storm  ceased  the  Elizabeth  was  as  bare  as 
a  newly  launched  hull,  and  wallowing  like  a  soaked 
log.  David  had  fallen  forward  on  his  face,  and  was 
asleep  or  insensible.  He  did  not  hear  the  handspike 
thumped  upon  the  deck,  and  the  cry,  "  On  deck!  on 
deck !  Lord  help  us !  she  is  going  down ! "  But  some 
one  lifted  him  on  to  a  raft  which  had  been  hastily 
lashed  together,  and  the  misery  that  followed  was 
only  a  part  of  some  awful  hours  when  physical  pain 
from  head  to  feet  drove  him  to  the  verge  of  madness. 
He  never  knew  how  long  it  was  before  they  were  met 
by  the  Alert,  a  large  passenger  packet  going  into  the 
port  of  London,  and  taken  on  board.  Four  of  the  men 
were  then  dead  from  exhaustion,  and  the  physician  on 
the  Alert  looked  doubtfully  at  David's  feet. 

"But  he  is  dying,"  he  said,  "and  why  give  him 
further  pain  ? " 

Then  a  young  man  stepped  forward  and  looked  at 
David.  There  was  both  pity  and  liking  in  his  face, 
and  he  stooped,  and  said  something  in  the  dying  man's 
ear.  A  faint  smile  answered  the  words ;  and  the  youth 
spoke  to  the  doctor,  and  both  of  them  went  to  work 
with  a  will.  The  effort,  even  then  so  desperate,  was 
ere  long  complicated  by  fever  and  delirium,  and  when 
David  came  to  himself  it  was  almost  like  a  new  birth. 
He  was  weaker  than  an  infant— too  weak,  indeed,  to 
wonder  or  speculate,  or  even  remember. 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  203 

He  only  knew  that  he  was  in  a  large  room  and  that 
two  men  were  with  him.  One  was  at  his  bedside, 
quiet  and  drowsy;  the  other  was  reading  in  a  Bible, 
sitting  close  by  the  shaded  candle.  David  knew  it  was 
a  Bible.  Who  does  not  know  a  Bible,  even  afar  off  ? 
No  matter  how  it  may  be  bound,  the  book  has  a  homely 
and  familiar  look  that  no  other  book  has.  David  shut 
his  eyes  again  after  seeing  it ;  he  felt  as  safe  and  happy 
as  if  a  dear  friend  had  spoken  to  him.  And  in  a  few 
days  the  man  with  the  Bible  began  to  come  near  him, 
and  to  read  softly  the  most  tender  and  gracious  words 
he  could  find  in  that  tenderest  of  all  books. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  an  interval  of  delicious 
rest  to  David.  It  was  as  if  some  strong  angel  swung 
and  hushed  and  wrapped  him  in  a  drowsy,  blissful 
torpor.  He  felt  no  pain,  not  even  in  his  tortured  feet, 
and  his  hands  lay  at  rest  upon  the  white  coverlet, 
healed  of  all  their  smarting  and  aching.  For  once  in 
his  hard  life  they  were  not  tired  or  sore.  He  knew 
that  he  was  fed  and  turned,  that  his  pillows  were  made 
soft  and  cool,  and  that  there  was  the  vague  sense  of 
kind  presence  about  him ;  that  sometimes  he  heard, 
like  a  heavenly  echo,  words  of  comfort  that  he  seemed 
to  have  heard  long  ago ;  that  he  slept  and  wakened, 
and  slept  again,  with  a  conscious  pleasure  in  the  transi 
tions. 

And  he  asked  no  questions.  He  was  content  to  let 
life  lie  in  blissful  quiescence,  to  be  still,  and  keep  his 
eyes  closed  to  the  world,  and  his  ears  deaf  to  its  cries. 
Gradually  these  sensations  increased  in  strength.  One 
day  he  heard  his  nurse  say  that  it  would  be  well  to 
remove  him  into  an  entirely  fresh  room.  And  he 


204  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

knew  that  he  was  lifted  in  strong  arms,  and  anon 
breathed  a  clearer  atmosphere,  and  slept  a  life-giving 
sleep.  When  he  awoke  he  had  new  strength.  He 
voluntarily  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  a  tree  waving 
branches  covered  with  fresh,  crinkly  leaves  before  his 
window.  It  was  like  a  glimpse  of  heaven.  And  that 
afternoon  his  preserver  came  to  his  side  and  said : 

"  Thee  is  much  better.    Can  thee  listen  to  me  now  ? " 

Then  David  looked  at  the  young  man  and  smiled ; 
and  their  eyes  met,  and  their  hands  met,  and  the  well 
man  stooped  to  the  sick  man  and  kissed  his  cheek. 

"  I  am  Friend  John  Priestly,"  he  said.  "  What  is 
thy  name  ? " 

"  David— David  Borson—  Shetland." 

"  David,  thee  is  going  to  live.  That  is  good  news, 
is  it  not?" 

"No;  life  is  hard— cruel  hard." 

"  Yes,  but  thee  can  say,  '  The  Lord  is  mine  helper.' 
Thee  can  pray  now?" 

"  I  have  no  strength." 

"  If  thee  cannot  speak,  lift  up  thy  hand.  He  will 
see  it  and  answer  thee." 

And  David's  face  shadowed,  and  he  did  not  lift  up 
his  hand ;  also,  if  the  whisper  in  his  heart  had  been 
audible,  John  Priestly  would  have  heard  him  say, 
"  What  is  the  use  of  prayer  ?  The  Lord  has  cast  me 
off." 

But  John  did  not  try  the  strength  of  his  patient 
further  at  that  time.  He  sat  by  his  side,  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  David's  hand,  and  began  to  repeat  in  a 
slow,  assuring  voice  the  One  Hundred  and  Third 
Psalm.  Its  familiar  words  went  into  David's  ears  like 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  205 

music,  and  he  fell  sweetly  asleep  to  its  promises.  For, 
though  men  in  their  weakness  and  haste  are  apt  to 
say,  "  The  Lord  hath  forgotten  to  be  gracious,"  they 
who  have  but  once  felt  his  love,  though  dimly  and  far 
off,  cannot  choose  but  trust  in  it,  even  to  the  grave. 

And  souls  fraternize  in  their  common  exile.  John 
Priestly  loved  the  young  man  whom  he  had  saved,  and 
David  felt  his  love.  As  he  came  fully  back  to  life  the 
past  came  clearly  back  to  memory.  He  remembered 
Nanna  as  those  who  love  white  jasmine  remember  it 
when  its  starry  flowers  are  gone — with  a  sweet,  aching 
longing  for  their  beauty  and  perfume.  He  remem 
bered  those  terrible  days  when  physical  pain  had 
been  acute  in  every  limb  and  every  nerve,  when  he 
had  fainted  with  agony,  but  never  complained.  He 
remembered  his  lonely  journey  to  the  grave's  mouth, 
and  the  dim  human  phantoms  who  had  stood,  as  it 
were,  afar  off,  and  helped  and  cheered  him  as  best  they 
could.  And  he  understood  that  he  had  really  been 
born  again :  a  new  lease  of  life  had  been  granted  him, 
and  he  had  come  back  to  earth,  as  so  many  wish  to 
come  back,  with  all  his  old  loves  and  experiences  to 
help  him  in  the  future. 

If  only  God  would  love  him !  If  only  God  would 
give  him  ever  so  small  a  portion  of  his  favor !  If  he 
would  only  let  him  live  humbly  before  him,  with  such 
comfort  of  home  and  friends  as  a  poor  fisherman  might 
have !  He  wondered,  as  he  lay  still,  what  he  or  his 
fathers  had  done  that  he  should  be  so  sorely  punished. 
Perhaps  he  had  shown  too  great  partiality  to  his 
father's  memory  in  the  matter  of  Bele  Trenby.  Well, 
then,  he  must  bear  the  consequences ;  for  even  at  this 


206  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

hour  lie  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  blame  his 
father  more  than  his  father  had  blamed  himself. 

And  as  he  lay  watching  the  waving  of  the  green 
trees,  and  inhaling  the  scent  of  the  lilies  and  violets 
from  the  garden  below  him,  he  began  to  think  of 
Shetland  with  a  great  longing.  The  bare,  brown, 
treeless  land  called  him  with  a  hundred  voices,  and 
thoughts  of  Nanna  came  like  a  small  bird  winging  the 
still,  blue  air.  For  sorrow  can  endear  a  place  as  well 
as  joy ;  and  the  little  hut  on  the  bare  moor,  in  which 
he  could  see  Nanna  working  at  her  braiding  or  her 
knitting,  was  the  spot  on  all  the  earth  that  drew  his 
soul  with  an  irresistible  desire. 

Oh,  how  he  wanted  to  see  Nanna!  Oh,  how  he 
wanted  to  see  her !  Just  to  hold  her  hand,  and  kiss 
her  face,  and  sit  by  her  side  for  an  hour  or  two !  He 
did  not  wish  either  her  conscience  or  his  own  less 
tender,  but  he  thought  that  now,  perhaps,  they  might 
be  cousins  and  friends,  and  so  comfort  and  help  each 
other  in  the  daily  trials  of  their  hard,  lonely  lives. 

One  day,  when  he  was  much  stronger,  as  he  sat 
by  the  open  window  thinking  of  these  things,  John 
Priestly  came  to  read  to  him.  John  had  a  faculty  of 
choosing  the  sweetest  and  most  comfortable  portions 
of  the  Book  in  his  hand.  This  selection  was  not  with 
out  purpose.  He  had  learned  from  David's  delirious 
complainings  the  intense  piety  of  the  youth,  and  the 
spiritual  despair  which  had  intensified  his  sufferings. 
And  he  hoped  God,  through  him,  would  say  a  word  of 
comfort  to  the  sorrowful  heart.  So  he  chose,  with  the 
sweet  determination  of  love,  the  most  glorious  and  the 
most  abounding  words  of  the  divine  Father. 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  207 

David  listened  with  a  reserved  acceptance.  It  was 
in  a  measure  a  new  Scripture  to  him.  It  appeared 
partial.  When  John  read,  with  a  kind  of  triumph, 
that  the  Lord  "  is  long-suffering  to  us  ward,  not  willing 
that  any  should  perish,  but  that  all  should  come  to 
repentance,"  David  made  a  slight  movement  of  dis 
sent  ;  and  John  asked : 

"Is  not  that  a  noble  love?  Thee  believes  in  it, 
David?" 

"No." 

The  word  was  softly  but  positively  uttered. 

"What  then,  David?" 

"  '  Some  men  and  angels  are  predestined  unto  ever 
lasting  life,  and  others  foreordained  to  everlasting 
death;  and  their  number  is  so  certain  and  definite 
that  it  cannot  be  either  increased  or  diminished.'" 
And  David  quoted  these  words  from  the  Confession  of 
Faith  with  such  confidence  and  despair  that  John 
trembled  at  them. 

"  David !  David !  "  he  cried.  "  Jesus  Christ  came  to 
seek  and  to  save  the  lost." 

"  It  is  impossible  for  the  lost  to  be  saved,"  answered 
David,  with  a  somber  confidence;  "only  the  elect, 
predestined  to  salvation." 

"  And  the  rest  of  mankind,  David  ?  what  of  them  ? " 

"God  has  been  pleased  to  ordain  them  to  wrath, 
that  his  justice  may  be  satisfied  and  glorified." 

"  David,  who  made  thee  such  a  God  as  this  ?  Where 
did  thee  learn  about  him  ?  How  can  thee  love  him  ? " 

"It  is  in  the  Confession  of  Faith.  And,  oh,  John 
Priestly,  I  do  love  him !  Yes,  I  love  him,  though  he  has 
hid  his  face  from  me  and,  I  fear,  cast  me  off  forever." 


208  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Dear  heart,"  said  John,  "thee  is  wronging  thy 
best  Friend." 

"HI  could  think  so !     Oh,  if  I  could  think  so !  " 

"Well,  then,  as  we  are  inquiring  after  God,  and 
nothing  less,  is  it  not  fair  to  take  him  at  his  own 
word?" 

David  looked  inquiringly  at  John,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"I  mean,  will  it  not  be  more  just  to  believe  what 
God  says  of  himself  than  to  believe  what  men,— priests, 
—long  ago  dead,  have  said  about  him  ? " 

"  I  think  that." 

Then,  one  after  another,  the  golden  verses,  full  of 
God's  love,  dropped  from  John's  lips  in  a  gracious 
shower.  And  David  was  amazed,  and  withal  a  little 
troubled.  John  was  breaking  up  all  his  foundations 
for  time  and  for  eternity.  He  was  using  the  Scriptures 
to  grind  to  powder  the  whole  visible  church  as  David 
understood  it.  It  was  a  kind  of  spiritual  shipwreck. 
His  slow  nature  took  fire  gradually,  and  then  burned 
fiercely.  Weak  as  he  was,  he  could  not  sit  still.  John 
Priestly  was  either  a  voice  in  the  wilderness  crying 
"  Peace !  "  and  "  Blessing !  "  to  him,  or  he  was  the  voice 
of  a  false  prophet  crying  "  Peace ! "  where  there  was 
no  peace.  He  looked  into  the  face  of  this  new  preacher, 
frank  and  glowing  as  it  was,  with  inquiry  not  unmixed 
with  suspicion. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  cried,  "  if  these  things  be  so,  let 
God  speak  to  me.  Bring  me  a  Bible  with  large  letters. 
I  want  to  see  these  words  with  my  eyes,  and  touch 
them  with  my  fingers." 

The  conversation  thus  begun  was  constantly  con- 


IN  THE  FOURTH  WATCH  209 

tinned,  and  David  searched  the  Scriptures  from  morn 
ing  to  night.  Often,  as  the  spring  grew  fairer  and 
warmer,  the  two  young  men  sat  in  the  garden  with 
the  Bible  between  them ;  and  while  the  sunshine  fell 
brightly  on  its  pages  they  reasoned  together  of  fate 
and  free  will,  and  of  that  divine  mercy  which  is  from 
everlasting  to  everlasting.  For  where  young  men 
have  leisure  spiritual  things  employ  them  much  more 
frequently  than  is  supposed.  Indeed,  it  is  the  young 
who  are  most  earnestly  troubled  about  the  next  life ; 
the  middle-aged  are  too  busy  with  this  one,  and  the 
aged  do  not  speculate,  because  they  will  soon  know. 

Thus,  daily,  little  by  little,  through  inlets  and  broader 
ways  known  only  to  God  and  himself,  the  light  grew 
and  grew  unto  perfect  day,  and  flooded  not  only  the 
great  hills  and  promontories  of  his  soul,  but  also  shone 
into  all  its  secret  caves  and  gloomy  valleys  and  lonely 
places.  Then  David  knew  how  blind  and  ignorant  he 
had  been ;  then  he  was  penetrated  with  loving  amaze 
ment,  and  humbled  to  the  dust  with  a  sense  of  the 
wrong  he  had  done  the  Father  of  his  spirit ;  and  he 
locked  himself  in  his  room,  and  fell  down  on  his  face 
before  his  God.  But  into  that  awful  communion,  in 
which  so  much  was  confessed  and  so  much  forgiven, 
it  is  not  lawful  to  inquire. 


13 


XI 

THE   LOWEST   HELL 

(FTER  this  the  thought  of  Nanna  became 
an  irresistible  longing.  He  could  not  be 
happy  until  she  sat  in  the  sunshine  of 
God's  love  with  him.  He  went  into  the 
garden  and  tested  his  strength,  and  as 
soon  as  he  was  in  the  open  air  he  was  smitten  with  a 
homesickness  not  to  be  controlled.  He  wanted  the 
sea ;  he  wanted  the  great  North  Sea  ;  he  longed  to  feel 
the  cradling  of  its  salt  waves  under  him ;  and  the  idea 
of  a  schooner  reefed  down  closely,  and  charging  along 
over  the  stormy  waters,  took  possession  of  him.  Then 
he  remembered  the  fishermen  he  used  to  know— the 
fishermen  who  peopled  the  desolate  places  of  the 
Shetland  seas. 

"I  must  go  home !  "  he  said  with  a  soft,  eager  pas 
sion.  "  I  must  go  home  to  Shetland."  And  there  was 
in  his  voice  and  accent  that  pride  and  tenderness  with 
which  one's  home  should  be  mentioned  in  a  strange 
land. 

When  he  saw  John  next  he  told  him  so,  and  they 
began  to  talk  of  his  life  there.  John  had  never  asked 

210 


THE  LOWEST  HELL  211 

him  of  his  past.  He  knew  him  to  be  a  child  of  God, 
however  far  away  from  his  Father,  and  he  had  accepted 
his  spiritual  brotherhood  with  trustfulness.  He  under 
stood  that  it  was  David's  modesty  that  had  made  him 
reticent.  But  when  David  was  ready  to  leave  he  also 
felt  that  John  had  a  right  to  know  what  manner  of 
man  he  had  befriended.  So,  as  they  sat  together  that 
night,  David  began  his  history. 

"  I  was  in  the  boats  at  six  years  old,"  he  said ;  "  for 
there  was  always  something  I  could  do.  During  the 
night-fishing,  unless  I  went  with  father,  I  was  alone ; 
and  I  had  hours  of  such  awful  terrors  that  I  am 
sad  only  to  remember  them ;  it  was  better  to  freeze 
out  on  the  sea,  if  father  would  let  me  go  with  him.  I 
was  often  hungry  and  often  weary ;  I  had  toothaches 
and  earaches  that  I  never  spoke  of ;  I  was  frequently 
so  sleepy  that  I  fell  down  in  the  boat.  And  I  had  no 
mother  to  kiss  me  or  pity  me,  and  the  neighbors  were 
shy  and  far  off.  Father  was  not  cross  or  unkind ;  he 
just  did  not  understand.  Even  in  those  days  I  won 
dered  why  God  made  little  lads  to  be  so  miserable  and 
to  suffer  so  much." 

He  spoke  then  in  a  very  guarded  way  about  that 
revelation  in  the  boat,  for  he  felt  rebuked  for  his  want 
of  faith  in  it ;  and  he  said  sorrowfully,  as  he  left  the 
subject,  "  Why,  then,  should  God  send  angels  to  men  ? 
They  are  feared  of  them  while  they  are  present,  and 
they  doubt  them  when  they  are  gone  away.  He  sent 
one  to  comfort  me,  and  I  denied  it  to  my  own  heart ; 
yes,  even  though  I  sorely  needed  the  comfort." 

Then  he  took  John  to  Shetland  with  him.  He 
showed  him,  in  strong,  simple  words,  the  old  Norse 


212  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

town,  with  its  gray  skies  and  its  gray  seas,  and  its 
fishing-smacks  hanging  to  the  rushing  sides  of  foam 
ing  mountains.  He  described  the  hoary  cliffs  and 
their  world  of  sea-birds,  the  glorious  auroras,  the 
heavenly  summers,  and  the  deadly  chillness  of  the 
winter  fogs  as  one  drift  after  another  passed  in  dim 
and  desolate  majesty  over  the  sea  and  land. 

Slowly  and  with  some  hesitation  he  got  to  Nanna  in 
her  little  stone  hut,  braiding  her  straw  and  nursing 
her  crippled  baby.  The  tears  came  into  his  eyes,  he 
clasped  his  knees  with  his  hands  as  if  to  steady  him 
self,  while  he  spoke  rapidly  of  her  marriage  with  Nicol 
Sinclair,  the  drowning  of  her  father  and  brothers, 
the  cruelty  of  her  husband,  his  desertion,  his  return, 
Nanna's  terror  of  losing  Vala,  the  fatal  typhus,  her 
desolation,  and  her  spiritual  anguish  about  Vala's  con 
dition.  All  these  things  he  told  John  with  that 
powerful  eloquence  which  is  born  of  living,  intense 
feeling. 

John  was  greatly  moved  by  the  whole  simple,  tragic 
story,  but  he  spoke  only  on  the  last  topic,  for  it  seemed 
to  him  to  dwarf  all  other  sorrow.  It  roused  his  in 
dignation,  and  he  said  it  was  a  just  and  holy  anger. 
He  wondered  how  men,  and  especially  mothers,  could 
worship  a  God  who  was  supposed  to  damn  little  chil 
dren  before  they  were  born.  He  vowed  that  neither 
Moloch  nor  Baal,  nor  any  pagan  deity,  had  been  so 
brutal.  He  was  amazed  that  ministers  believing  such 
a  doctrine  dared  to  marry.  What  special  right  had 
they  to  believe  their  children  would  all  be  elect  ?  And 
if  there  was  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  this  subject,  how 
awful  was  their  responsibility !  Nanna's  scruples,  he 


THE  LOWEST  HELL  213 

said,  were  the  only  possible  outcome  of  a  conscientious, 
unselfish  soul  believing  the  devilish  doctrine.  And  he 
cried  out  with  enthusiasm : 

"  Nanna  is  to  be  honored !  Oh,  for  a  conscience  as 
tender  and  void  of  offense  toward  God !  I  will  go  to 
Shetland  and  kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment !  She  is  a 
woman  in  ten  thousand !  " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  David,  softly,  "  I  shall  take  com 
fort  to  her." 

"To  think,"  said  John,  who  was  still  moved  by  a 
holy  anger,  "  to  think  that  God  should  have  created 
this  beautiful  world  as  a  nursery  for  hell!  that  he 
should  have  made  such  a  woman  as  Nanna  to  suckle 
devils !  No,  no,  David ! "  he  said,  suddenly  calming 
himself ;  "  thee  could  never  believe  such  things  of  thy 
God." 

"  I  was  taught  them  early  and  late.  I  can  say  the 
Confession  of  Faith  backward,  I  am  sure." 

"Let  no  man-made  creed  impose  itself  on  thee, 
David— enter  into  thee,  and  possess  thee,  and  take  the 
place  of  thy  soul.  The  voice  that  spoke  from  Sinai 
and  from  Bethlehem  is  still  speaking.  And  man's 
own  soul  is  an  oracle,  if  he  will  only  listen  to  it— the 
inward,  instant  sense  of  a  present  God,  and  of  his 
honorable,  true,  and  only  Son  Christ  Jesus." 

"  I  will  listen,  if  God  will  speak." 

"  Never  thee  mind  catechisms  and  creeds  and  con 
fessions.  The  Word  of  God  was  before  them,  and  the 
Word  will  be  the  Word  when  catechisms  and  confes 
sions  are  cast  into  the  dusty  museums  of  ancient 
things,  with  all  the  other  shackles  of  the  world  in 
bondage.  David,  there  is  in  every  good  man  a  spirit- 
is* 


214  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

ual  center,  answering  to  a  higher  spiritual  center  in 
the  universe.  All  controversies  come  back  to  this." 

"  I  wish,  John  Priestly,  that  you  could  see  Nanna, 
and  speak  comfort  to  her  heart." 

"  That  must  be  thy  message,  David.  And  be  sure 
that  thee  knows  well  the  children's  portion  in  the 
Scriptures.  Thee  must  show  Nanna  that  theirs  is  the 
kingdom.  What  we  win  through  great  tribulation  they 
inherit  through  the  love  of  the  Father.  Theirs  is  the 
kingdom;  and  there  is  no  distinction  of  elect  or  non- 
elect,  as  I  read  the  title." 

"I  count  the  hours  now  until  I  am  able  to  travel. 
I  long  for  the  sea  that  stretches  nor'ard  to  the  ice,  and 
the  summer  days,  when  the  sunset  brightens  the  mid 
night.  No  need  to  egg  me  on.  I  am  all  the  time 
thinking  of  the  old  town  growing  out  of  the  mist,  and 
I  know  how  I  shall  feel  when  I  stand  on  the  pier  again 
among  the  fishers,  when  I  hurry  through  the  clean, 
quiet  streets,  while  the  kind  people  nod  and  smile,  and 
call  to  each  other,  { Here  is  David  Borson  come  back 
again.' " 

"And  Nanna?" 

"  She  is  the  heart  of  my  longing." 

"  And  thee  is  taking  her  glad  tidings  of  great  joy." 

"  I  am  that.  So  there  is  great  hurry  in  my  heart, 
for  I  like  not  to  sit  in  the  sunshine  and  know  that 
Nanna  is  weeping  in  the  dark." 

"Thee  must  not  be  discouraged  if  she  be  at  first 
unable  to  believe  thy  report." 

"The  hour  will  come.  Nanna  was  ever  a  seeker 
after  G-od.  She  will  listen  joyfully.  She  will  take  the 
cup  of  salvation,  and  drink  it  with  thanksgiving.  We 


THE  LOWEST  HELL  215 

shall  stand  together  in  the  light,  loving  God  and  fear 
ing  God,  but  not  afraid  of  him.  Faith  in  Christ  will 
set  her  free." 

"  But  lean  hard  upon  God's  Word,  David.  There 
is  light  enough  and  help  enough  for  every  strait  of 
life  in  it.  Let  thy  creed  lie  at  rest.  There  are  many 
doors  to  scientific  divinity,  but  there  is  only  one  door 
to  heaven.  And  I  will  tell  thee  this  thing,  David :  if 
men  had  to  be  good  theologians  before  they  were  good 
Christians,  the  blessed  heaven  would  be  empty." 

"  Yet,  John,  my  theology  was  part  of  my  very  Me. 
Nothing  to  me  was  once  more  certain  than  that  men 
and  women  were  in  God's  hand  as  clay  in  the  potter's. 
And  as  some  vessels  are  made  to  honor,  and  some  to 
dishonor,  so  some  men  were  made  for  salvation  and 
honor,  and  others  for  rejection  and  dishonor." 

"  Clay  in  the  potter's  hand !  And  some  for  honor, 
and  some  for  dishonor !  We  will  even  grant  that 
much ;  but  tell  me,  David,  does  the  potter  ever  make 
his  vessels  for  the  express  purpose  of  breaking  them  ? 
No,  no,  David!  He  is  not  willing  that  any  should 
perish.  Christ  is  not  going  to  lose  what  he  has  bought 
with  his  blood.  The  righteous  are  planted  as  trees  by 
the  watercourses,  but  God  does  not  plant  any  tree  for 
fuel." 

"  He  is  a  good  God,  and  his  name  is  Love." 

"  So,  then,  thee  is  going  back  to  Shetland  with  glad 
tidings  for  many  a  soul.  What  will  thy  hands  find  to 
do  for  thy  daily  bread  ? " 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  the  boats  and  the  nets  and  lines." 

"  Would  thee  like  to  have  a  less  dangerous  way  of 
earning  thy  bread?  My  father  has  a  great  business 


216  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

in  the  city,  and  thee  could  drive  one  of  the  big  drays 
that  go  to  the  docks." 

"  I  could  not.  I  can  carry  a  ship  through  any  sea 
a  ship  can  live  in ;  I  could  not  drive  a  Shetland  shelty 
down  an  empty  street.  I  am  only  a  simple  sea-dog. 
I  love  the  sea.  Men  say  for  sure  it  is  in  my  heart 
and  my  blood.  I  must  live  on  the  sea.  When  my 
hour  comes  to  die,  I  hope  the  sea  will  keep  my  body 
in  one  of  her  clean,  cool  graves.  If  God  gives  me 
Nanna,  and  we  have  sons  and  daughters,  they  shall 
have  a  happy  childhood  and  a  good  schooling.  Then 
I  will  put  all  the  boys  in  the  boats,  and  the  girls  shall 
learn  to  grow  like  their  mother,  and,  if  it  please  God, 
they  shall  marry  good  men  and  good  fishers." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  the  life  of  a  fisher  is  a  very 
hard  one,  and  withal  that  it  hath  but  small  returns." 

"Fishers  have  their  good  and  their  bad  seasons. 
They  take  their  food  direct  from  the  hand  of  God ;  so, 
then,  good  or  bad,  it  is  all  right.  Fishers  have  their 
loves  and  joys  and  sorrows ;  birth  and  marriage  and 
death  come  to  them  as  to  others.  They  have  the  same 
share  of  God's  love,  the  same  Bible,  the  same  hope  of 
eternal  life,  that  the  richest  men  and  women  have.  It 
is  enough." 

"And  hard  lives  have  their  compensations,  David. 
Doubtless  the  fisherman's  life  has  its  peculiar  bless 
ings  ? " 

"  It  has.  The  fisher's  life  is  as  free  from  temptation 
as  a  life  can  be.  He  has  to  trust  God  a  great  deal ;  if 
he  did  not  he  would  very  seldom  go  into  the  boats  at 
all." 

"  Yet  he  holds  the  ocean  '  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.7 " 


THE  LOWEST  HELL  217 

"  That  is  true.  I  never  feel  so  surely  held  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand  as  when  the  waves  are  as  high  as 
my  masthead,  and  my  boat  smashes  into  the  black  pit 
below.  There  is  none  but  God  then.  Thank  you, 
Friend  John,  but  I  shall  live  and  die  a  fisherman." 

"Would  thee  care  to  change  Shetland  for  some 
warmer  and  less  stormy  climate  ? " 

"  Would  a  man  care  to  change  his  own  father  and 
mother  for  any  other  father  and  mother  ?  Stern  and 
hard  was  my  poor  father,  and  he  knew  not  how  to 
love ;  but  his  memory  is  dear  to  me,  and  I  would  not 
break  the  tie  between  us— no,  not  to  be  the  son  of  a 
king !  My  native  land  is  a  poor  land,  but  I  have 
thought  of  her  green  and  purple  moors  among  gardens 
full  of  roses.  Shetland  is  my  home,  and  home  is  sweet 
and  fair  and  dear." 

"  Traveling  Zionward,  David,  we  have  often  to  walk 
in  the  wilderness.  Thee  hast  dwelt  in  Skye  and  in 
Shetland ;  what  other  lands  hast  thee  seen  ? " 

"I  have  been  east  as  far  as  Smyrna.  I  sat  there 
and  read  the  message  of  '  the  First  and  the  Last '  to  its 
church.  And  I  went  to  Athens,  and  stood  where  St. 
Paul  had  once  stood.  And  I  have  seen  Borne  and 
Naples  and  Genoa  and  Marseilles,  and  many  of  the 
Spanish  and  French  ports.  I  have  pulled  oranges  from 
the  trees,  and  great  purple  grapes  from  the  vines,  and 
even  while  I  was  eating  them  longed  for  the  oat-cakes 
and  fresh  fish  of  Shetland." 

"  Rome  and  Naples  and  Athens !  Then,  David,  thee 
hast  seen  the  fairest  cities  on  the  earth." 

"  And  yet,  Friend  John,  what  hells  I  saw  in  them ! 
I  was  taken  through  great  buildings  where  men  and 


218  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

women  die  of  dreadful  pain.  I  saw  other  buildings 
where  men  and  women  could  eat  and  sleep,  and  could 
not  think  or  love  or  know.  I  saw  drinking-hells  and 
gambling-hells.  I  saw  men  in  dark  and  awful  pris 
ons,  men  living  in  poverty  and  filth  and  blasphemy, 
without  hope  for  this  world  or  the  next.  I  saw  men 
die  on  the  scaffold.  And,  John,  I  have  often  wondered 
if  this  world  were  hell.  Are  we  put  here  in  low,  or 
lower,  or  lowest  hell  to  work  out  our  salvation,  and  so 
at  last,  through  great  tribulation,  win  our  weary  way 
back  to  heaven  ? " 

John  Priestly  was  silent  a  few  moments  ere  he  an 
swered  :  "  If  that  were  even  so,  there  is  still  comfort, 
David.  For  if  we  make  our  bed  in  any  of  such  hells, 
—mind,  we  make  it,— even  there  we  are  not  beyond 
the  love  and  the  pity  of  the  Infinite  One.  For  when 
the  sorrows  of  hell  compassed  David  of  old,  he  cried 
unto  God,  and  he  delivered  him  from  his  strong  enemy, 
and  brought  him  forth  into  a  large  place.  So,  then, 
David,  though  good  men  may  get  into  hell,  they  do 
not  need  to  stay  there." 

"I  know  that  by  experience,  John.  Have  I  not 
been  in  the  lowest  pit,  in  darkness,  in  the  deeps,  in 
that  lowest  hell  of  the  soul  where  I  had  no  God  to 
pray  to  ?  For  how  could  I  pray  to  a  God  so  cruel 
that  I  did  not  dare  to  become  a  father,  lest  he  should 
elect  my  children  to  damnation  ?  a  God  so  unjust  that 
he  loved  without  foresight  of  faith  or  good  works,  and 
hated  because  it  was  his  pleasure  to  hate,  and  to  or 
dain  the  hated  to  dishonor  and  wrath  ? " l 

"And  yet,  David?" 
1  Confession  of  Faith,  chap.  3,  sees,  v-vii ;  chap.  16,  sec.  vii. 


THE  LOWEST  HELL  219 

"  In  my  distress  my  soul  cried  out,  '  God  pity  me ! 
God  pity  me ! '  And  even  while  I  so  wronged  him  he 
sent  from  above— he  sent  you,  John ;  he  took  me,  he 
drew  me  out  of  many  waters,— for  great  was  his  mercy 
toward  me,— and  he  delivered  my  soul  from  the  low 
est  hell." 


XII 

"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE" 

WEEK  after  this  conversation  David  was 
near  Lerwick.  It  was  very  early  in  the 
morning,  and  the  sky  was  gray  and  the 
sea  was  gray,  and  through  the  vapory 
veiling  the  little  town  looked  gray  and 
silent  as  a  city  in  a  dream.  During  the  voyage  he  had 
thought  of  himself  always  as  hastening  at  once  ,to 
Nanna's  house,  but  as  soon  as  his  feet  touched  the 
quay  he  hesitated.  The  town  appeared  to  be  asleep ; 
there  was  only  here  and  there  a  thin  column  of  peat 
smoke  from  the  chimneys,  and  the  few  people  going 
about  their  simple  business  in  the  misty  morning  were 
not  known  to  him.  Probably,  also,  he  had  some  un 
reasonable  expectation,  for  he  looked  sadly  around, 
and,  sighing,  said : 

"  To  be  sure,  such  a  thing  would  never  happen,  ex 
cept  in  a  dream." 

After  all,  it  seemed  best  that  he  should  go  first  to 
Barbara  TrailPs.  She  would  give  him  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  while  he  drank  it  he  could  send  one  of  Glumm's 
little  lads  with  a  message  to  Nanna.  There  was  noth- 

220 


"AT   LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  221 

ing  of  cowardice  in  this  determination ;  it  was  rather 
that  access  of  reverential  love  which,  as  it  draws  nearer, 
puts  its  own  desire  and  will  at  the  feet  of  the  beloved 
one. 

Barbara's  door  stood  open,  and  she  was  putting 
fresh  fuel  under  the  hanging  tea-kettle.  The  smell  of 
the  peat  smoke  was  homely  and  pleasant  to  David; 
he  sniffed  it  eagerly  as  he  called  out : 

"  Well,  then,  mother,  good  morning !  " 

She  raised  herself  quickly,  and  turned  her  broad, 
kind  face  to  him.  A  strange  shadow  crossed  it  when 
she  saw  David,  but  she  answered  affectionately : 

"  Well,  then,  David,  here  we  meet  again !  " 

Then  she  hastened  the  morning  meal,  and  as  she 
did  so  asked  question  after  question  about  his  wel 
fare  and  adventures,  until  David  said  a  little  impa 
tiently  : 

"  There  is  enough  of  this  talk,  mother.  Speak  to 
me  now  of  Nanna  Sinclair.  Is  she  well  ?  " 

"Your  aunt  Sabiston  is  dead.  There  was  a  great 
funeral,  I  can  tell  you  that.  She  has  left  all  her 
money  to  the  kirk  and  the  societies ;  and  a  white  stone 
as  high  as  two  men  has  come  from  Aberdeen  for  her 
grave.  Well,  so  it  is.  And  you  must  know,  also, 
that  my  son  has  married  himself,  and  not  to  my  liking, 
and  so  he  has  gone  from  me ;  and  your  room  is  empty 
and  ready,  if  you  wish  it  so  ;  and—" 

"  Yes,  yes,  Barbara !  Keep  your  room  for  me,  and 
I  will  pay  the  price  of  it." 

"I  will  do  that  gladly;  and  as  for  the  price,  we 
shall  have  no  words  about  that." 

"All  this  is  well  enough,  but,  mother!  mother! 


222  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

what  is  there  to  hide  from  me  ?    Speak  with  a  straight 
tongue.     Where  is  Nanna  ? " 

Then  Barbara  said  plainly,  "  Nanna  is  dead." 

With  a  cry  of  amazed  anguish  David  leaped  to  his 
feet,  instinctively  covering  his  ears  with  his  hands, 
for  he  could  not  bear  such  words  to  enter  them. 
"  Dead  !  "  he  whispered ;  and  Barbara  saw  him  reeling 
and  swaying  like  a  tottering  pillar.  She  pushed  a 
chair  toward  him,  and  was  thankful  that  he  had 
strength  left  to  take  its  support.  But  she  made  no 
outcry,  and  called  in  none  of  the  neighbors.  Quietly 
she  stood  a  little  way  off,  while  David,  in  a  death-like 
silence,  fought  away  the  swooning,  drowning  wave 
which  was  making  his  heart  stand  still  and  his  limbs 
fail  him.  For  she  knew  the  nature  of  the  suffering 
man— knew  that  when  he  came  to  himself  there  would 
be  none  but  Grod  could  intermeddle  in  his  heart's  bit 
terness  and  loss. 

After  a  sharp  struggle  David  opened  his  eyes,  and 
Barbara  gave  him  a  drink  of  cold  water;  but  she 
offered  neither  advice  nor  consolation.  Only  when 
David  said,  "  I  am  sick,  mother,  and  I  will  go  to  my 
room  and  lie  down  on  my  bed,"  she  answered : 

"  My  dear  lad,  that  is  the  right  way.  Sleep,  if  sleep 
you  can." 

About  sunsetting  David  asked  Barbara  for  food ; 
and  as  she  prepared  it  he  sat  by  the  open  window, 
silent  and  stupefied,  dominated  by  the  somber  inertia 
of  hopeless  sorrow.  When  he  began  to  eat,  Barbara 
took  from  a  china  jartwo  papers,  and  gave  them  to  him. 

"  I  promised  Nanna  to  put  them  into  your  hands," 
she  said. 


"AT  LAST  IT   IS  PEACE"  225 

"  When  did  she  die?" 

"  Last  December,  the  fourteenth  day." 

"  Did  you  see  her  on  that  day  ? " 

•/  V 

"I  was  there  early  in  the  morning,  for  I  saw 
there  was  snow  to  fall.  She  was  dead  at  the  noon 
hour." 

"  You  saw  her  go  away  ? " 

"  No ;  I  was  afraid  of  the  storm.  I  left  her  at  ten 
o'clock.  She  could  not  then  speak,  but  she  gave  me 
the  papers.  We  had  talked  of  them  before." 

"  Then  did  she  die  alone  ? " 

"She  did  not.  I  went  into  the  next  cottage  and 
told  Christine  Yell  that  it  was  the  last  hour  with 
Nanna;  and  she  said,  'I  will  go  to  her/  and  so  she 
did." 

"  You  should  have  stayed,  mother." 

"  My  lad,  the  snow  was  already  f ailing,  and  I  had 
to  hasten  across  the  moor,  as  there  was  very  good 
reason  to  do." 

Then  David  went  out,  and  Barbara  watched  him 
take  the  road  that  led  to  Nanna's  empty  cottage.  The 
door  opened  readily  to  the  lifted  latch,  and  he  entered 
the  forsaken  room.  The  peat  fire  had  long  ago  burned 
itself  to  ashes.  The  rose-plant,  which  had  been 
Nanna's  delight,  had  withered  away  on  its  little  shelf 
by  the  window.  But  the  neighbors  had  swept  the 
floor  and  put  the  simple  furniture  in  order.  David 
drew  the  bolt  across  the  door,  and  opened  the  papers 
which  Nanna  had  left  for  him.  The  first  was  a  be 
quest  to  him  of  the  cottage  and  all  within  it ;  the  sec 
ond  was  but  a  little  slip  on  which  the  dying  woman 
had  written  her  last  sad  messages  to  him : 


226  PEISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

Oh,  my  love  !  my  love  !  Farewell  forever !  I  am  come  to  the 
end  of  my  life.  I  am  going  away,  and  I  know  not  where  to.  All 
is  dark.  But  I  have  cast  myself  at  His  feet,  and  said,  "  Thy  will 
be  done ! " 

I  am  still  alive,  David.  I  have  been  alone  all  night,  and 
every  breath  has  been  a  death-pang.  How  can  His  eternal 
purpose  need  my  bitter  suffering?  Oh,  that  God  would  pity 
me  !  His  will  be  done ! 

My  love,  it  is  nearly  over.  I  have  seen  Vala !  At  last  it  is 
peace — peace  !  His  will  be  done  !  Mercy— mercy— mercy— 

These  pitiful  despairs  and  farewells  were  written  in 
a  large,  childish  hand,  and  on  a  poor  sheet  of  paper. 
David  spread  this  paper  upon  Vala's  couch,  and,  kneel 
ing  down,  covered  it  with  tears  and  kisses ;  but  anon 
he  lifted  it  up  toward  heaven,  and  prayed  as  men  pray 
when  they  feel  prayer  to  be  an  immediate  and  veri 
table  thing— when  they  detain  God,  and  clasp  his  feet, 
and  cling  to  his  robe,  and  will  not  let  him  go  until  he 
bless  them. 

Christine  Yell  had  seen  David  enter  the  cottage,  and 
after  an  hour  had  passed  she  went  to  the  door  intend 
ing  to  speak  to  him ;  but  she  heard  the  solemn,  mys 
terious  voice  of  the  man  praying,  and  she  went  away 
and  called  her  neighbors,  Margaret  Jarl  and  Elga  Fae 
and  Thora  Thorson.  And  they  talked  of  David  a 
little,  and  then  Magnus  Thorson,  the  father-in-law  of 
Thora,  being  a  very  old  man,  went  alone  into  Nanna's 
cottage  to  see  David.  And  after  a  while  the  women 
were  called,  and  Christine  took  with  her  a  plate  of  fish 
and  bread  which  she  had  prepared ;  and  David  was 
glad  of  their  sympathy. 


"AT   LAST   IT   IS  PEACE"  227 

They  sat  down  outside  the  door.  The  tender  touch 
of  the  gray  gloaming  softened  the  bleak  cliffs  and  the 
brown  moorland,  and  the  heavens  were  filled  with 
stars.  Then  softly  and  solemnly  Christine  spoke  of 
Nanna's  long,  hard  fight  with  death,  and  of  the  spirit 
ual  despair  which  had  intensified  her  suffering. 

"  It  was  in  season  and  out  of  season  that  she  was  at 
Vala's  grave,"  said  Christine,  "  and  kneeling  and  lying 
on  the  cold  ground  above  her ;  and  the  end  was — what 
could  only  be  looked  for— a  cough  and  a  fever,  and 
the  slow  consumption  that  wasted  her  away." 

"  Was  there  none  of  you  to  comfort  her?" 

"It  is  true,  David,  that  the  child  was  never  bap 
tized,"  said  Christine ;  "  so,  then,  what  comfort  could 
there  be  for  her  ?  And  then  she  began  to  think  that 
God  had  never  loved  her." 

"Thanks  to  the  Best,  she  knows  now  how  far 
wrong  she  was,"  said  David,  fervently;  "she  knows 
now  that  his  love  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting. 
Her  poor  heart,  wearied  with  so  many  sorrows  and 
troubled  by  so  many  fears,  has  tasted  one  supreme 
happiness— that  God  is  love." 

"  She  thought  for  sure  that  he  was  continually  angry 
with  her.  '  If  he  had  cared  for  my  soul/  she  said  to 
me,  one  day,  l  he  would  not  have  let  me  marry  Nicol 
Sinclair.  He  would  have  kept  his  hand  about  me 
until  my  cousin  David  Borson  came  from  the  Hebrides. 
And  if  he  had  cared  for  my  poor  bairn  he  would  not, 
by  this  and  that,  have  prevented  the  minister  coming 
to  baptize  her.' " 

"  Was  she  long  ill  ? "  asked  David. 

"At  the  beginning  of  last  winter  she  became  too 

14 


228  PEISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

ill  to  go  to  the  ordinances,  and  too  feared  to  open 
her  Bible,  lest  she  should  read  her  own  condemnation 
in  it;  and  so  gradually  she  seemed  to  lose  all  hope, 
either  for  this  life  or  the  next  one.  And  folk  wearied 
of  her  complaining,  I  think." 

"  The  elders  and  the  minister,  did  they  not  try  to 
comfort  her  ? " 

"At  first  Elder  Peterson  and  Elder  Hoag  came  to 
see  her ;  but  Nanna  put  strange  questions  to  them— 
questions  they  could  not  answer;  and  they  said  the 
minister  could  not  answer  them,  either— no,  nor  the 
whole  assembly  of  the  kirk  of  Scotland.  And  I  was 
hearing  that  the  minister  was  angered  by  her  words 
and  her  doubting,  and  he  told  her  plainly  '  women  had 
no  call  to  speer  after  the  "why"  of  God's  purposes.' 
And  indeed,  David,  she  was  very  outspoken,— for  she 
was  fretful  with  pain  and  fever,— and  she  told  him 
that  she  was  not  thankful  to  go  to  hell  for  the  glory 
and  honor  of  God,  and  that,  moreover,  she  did  not 
want  to  go  to  heaven  if  Vala  was  not  there.  And 
when  the  minister  said,  'Whist,  woman !  '—for  he  was 
frightened  at  her  words,— she  would  not  be  still,  but 
went  on  to  wonder  how  fathers  and  mothers  could  be 
happy,  even  in  the  very  presence  of  God,  if  their  sons 
and  daughters  were  wandering  in  the  awful  outer 
darkness ;  and,  moreover,  she  said  she  was  not  grate 
ful  to  God  for  life,  and  she  thought  her  consent  to 
coming  into  life  on  such  hard  terms  ought  to  have 
been  first  asked." 

And  Christine  looked  at  David,  and  ceased  speak 
ing,  for  she  was  afraid  that  her  words  would  both 
anger  and  trouble  the  young  man.  But  David's  eyes 


"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  229 

were  full  of  happy  tears,  and  there  was  a  tender  smile 
round  his  mouth.  He  was  thinking  of  the  glad  sur 
prises  that  Nanna  must  have  had— she  who  belonged 
to  the  God  of  compassions.  After  all  her  shuddering 
questions  and  lamentable  doubts  and  cruel  pain,  the 
everlasting  arms  under  her;  Vala  and  her  beloved 
dead  to  comfort  her ;  ineffable  peace ;  unclouded  joy ; 
the  night  past ;  the  last  tear  wiped  away !  At  that 
moment  he  felt  that  it  was  too  late  to  weep  for  Nanna ; 
indeed,  he  smiled  like  one  full  of  blessed  thought. 
And  Christine,  a  little  irritated  by  the  unexpected 
mood,  did  not  further  try  to  smooth  over  the  hard 
facts  of  the  lonely  woman's  death-bed. 

"The  minister  was  angry  with  her,  and  he  said 
God  was  angry.  And  Nanna  said,  well,  then,  she 
knew  that  he  did  not  care  about  her  perishing ;  it  was 
all  one  to  him.  A  little  happiness  would  have  saved 
her,  and  he  refused  her  the  smallest  joy ;  and  she  did 
not  see  how  crushing  the  poor  and  broken-hearted  in 
the  dust  increased  his  glory.  The  minister  told  her 
she  was  resisting  God,  and  she  said,  no ;  that  was  not 
possible.  God  was  her  master,  and  he  smote  her,  and 
perhaps  had  the  right  to  do  so ;  but  she  was  not  his 
child :  no  father  would  treat  a  child  so  hardly  as  he 
had  treated  her.  She  was  a  slave,  and  must  submit, 
and  weep  and  die  at  the  corner  of  the  highway.  And, 
to  be  sure,  the  minister  did  not  think  of  her  pain  and 
her  woman's  heart,— what  men  do  ?— and  he  thought  it 
right  to  speak  hard  words  to  her.  And  then  Nanna 
said  she  wished  they  would  all  leave  her  alone  with 
her  sorrow,  and  so  they  did." 

Then,  suddenly  and  swiftly  as  a  flash  of  light,  a 


230  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

word  came  to  David.  His  heart  burned,  and  his 
tongue  was  loosened,  and  then  and  there  he  preached 
to  the  old  man  and  the  three  women  the  unsearchable 
riches  of  the  cross  of  Christ.  He  glorified  God  because 
Nanna  had  learned  Christ  at  the  radiant  feet  of  Christ, 
in  the  joy  and  love  of  the  redeemed.  He  took  his 
Bible  from  his  pocket,  and  repeated  all  the  blessed 
words  he  had  marked  and  learned.  Until  the  mid 
night  moon  climbed  cold  and  bright  to  the  zenith  he 
spoke.  And  old  Magnus  Thorson  stood  up,  leaning 
on  his  staff,  full  of  holy  wonder,  and  the  women  softly 
sobbed  and  prayed  at  his  feet.  And  when  they  parted 
there  was  in  every  heart  a  confident  acceptance  of 
David's  closing  words : 

"Whoever  rests,  however  feebly,  on  the  eternal 
mercy  shall  live  forever." 

After  this  "call"  sleep  was  impossible  to  David. 
That  insight  which  changes  faith  into  knowledge  had 
comforted  him  concerning  his  dead.  He  lay  down 
on  Vala's  couch,  and  he  felt  sure  that  Nanna's  smile 
filled  the  silence  like  a  spell ;  for  there  are  still  moments 
when  we  have  the  transcendental  faculties  of  the  illu 
minated  who,  as  the  apostle  says,  "  have  tasted  of  the 
powers  of  the  world  to  come  "—still  moments  when  we 
feel  that  Jacob's  ladder  yet  stands  between  heaven  and 
earth,  and  that  we  can  see  the  angels  ascending  and 
descending  upon  it.  He  was  so  still  that  he  could 
hear  the  beating  of  his  own  heart,  but  clear  and  vivid 
as  light  his  duty  spread  out  before  him.  He  had 
found  his  vocation,  and,  oh,  how  rapidly  men  grow 
under  the  rays  of  that  invisible  sun ! 

The  next  morning  he  went  to  see  the  minister.     He 


"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  231 

was  seated,  writing  his  sermon,  precisely  as  David 
had  found  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  last  visit.  So 
much  had  happened  to  David  since  that  morning  that 
he  found  it  difficult  to  believe  nothing  had  happened 
to  the  minister.  He  looked  up  at  the  interruption 
with  the  same  slight  annoyance,  but  the  moment  he 
saw  David  his  manner  changed.  He  rose  up  quickly 
and  went  to  meet  him,  and  as  he  clasped  his  hand 
looked  with  curious  intentness  into  his  face. 

"  You  are  much  changed,  David,"  he  said.  "  What 
has  happened  to  you  ? " 

"  Everything,  nearly,  minister.  The  David  Borson 
who  left  here  two  years  ago  is  dead  and  buried.  I 
have  been  born  again." 

"  That  is  a  great  experience.  Sit  down  and  tell  me 
about  it." 

"Yes,  minister,  but  first  I  must  speak  of  Nanna 
Sinclair." 

"  She  is  dead,  David ;  that  is  true." 

"She  has  gone  home.  She  has  gone  to  the  God 
who  loved  her." 

"  I— hope  so." 

"I  know  it  is  so.  Nanna  loved  God,  and  those 
who  love  God  in  life  will  find  no  difficulty  in  going  to 
him  after  life  is  over." 

"  She  had  a  hard  life,  and  it  was  all  in  the  dark  to 
her." 

"But  at  the  death-hour  it  was  light,  though  the 
light  was  not  of  this  world."  And  David  told  the 
minister  about  the  farewell  message  she  had  written 
him,  and  its  final  happy  words,  "  At  last  it  is  peace- 
peace  ! "  He  could  not  bear  that  any  eyes  should  see 
u* 


232  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

the  paper,  or  any  hand  touch  it,  but  his  own ;  but  he 
wished  all  to  know  that  at  the  death-hour  God  had 
comforted  her. 

"  She  suffered  a  great  deal,  David." 

"What  ailed  her,  minister?" 

""What  ails  the  lamp,  David,  when  it  goes  out? 
There  is  no  oil,  that  is  all.  Nanna  used  up  all  her 
strength  in  weeping  and  feeling ;  the  oil  of  life  wastes 
quickly  in  that  way." 

"  O  minister,  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  left  her !  It  was 
selfish  and  cruel.  I  wish  now  that  I  could  cover  her 
hands  with  kisses,  and  ask  her  pardon  on  my  knees ; 
but  I  find  nothing  but  a  grave." 

"  Ah,  David,  it  is  death  that  forces  us  to  see  the  self 
ishness  that  comes  into  our  best  affections.  Self  per 
mitted  you  to  give  all  you  had  to  Nanna,  but  forbade 
you  to  give  yourself.  There  was  self  even  in  your 
self-surrender  to  God.  If  you  could  have  seen  that 
long,  long  disappointed  look  in  Nanna's  eyes,  and  the 
pale  lips  that  asked  so  little  from  you—" 

"  O  minister,  spare  me !  She  asked  only, '  Stay  near 
me,  David ' ;  and  I  might  have  stayed  and  comforted 
her  to  the  end.  Oh,  for  one  hour— one  hour  only ! 
But  neither  to-day  nor  to-morrow,  nor  through  all 
eternity,  shall  I  have  the  opportunity  to  love  and 
soothe  which  I  threw  away  because  it  hurt  me  and 
made  my  heart  ache."  And  David  bowed  his  head  in 
his  hands  and  wept  bitterly. 

Alas !  love,  irreparably  wronged,  possesses  these 
eternal  memories;  and  the  soul,  forced  to  weep  for 
opportunities  gone  forever,  has  these  inconsolable  re 
finements  of  tenderness.  "  One  hour— one  hour  only !  " 


"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  233 

was  the  cry  of  David's  soul.  And  the  answer  was, 
"  No,  never !  She  has  carried  away  her  sorrow.  You 
may,  indeed,  meet  her  where  all  tears  are  dried  and 
forgotten ;  but  while  she  did  weep  you  were  not  there ; 
you  had  left  her  alone,  and  your  hour  to  comfort  her 
has  gone  forever." 

After  a  short  silence  the  minister  went  to  his  desk, 
and  brought  from  it  David's  purse,  and  he  laid  it,  with 
the  will  that  had  been  written,  before  him.  "It  is 
useless  now,"  he  said.  "  Nanna  has  need  of  nothing 
you  can  give  her." 

"Did  it  do  any  good,  minister?" 

"Yes,  a  great  deal.  When  Nanna  was  no  longer 
able  to  come  to  the  kirk,  I  went  to  see  her.  She  was 
miserably  sick  and  poor,  and  it  made  my  heart  ache 
to  watch  her  thin,  trembling  fingers  trying  to  knit.  I 
took  her  work  gently  out  of  her  hands,  and  said, '  You 
are  not  able  to  hold  the  needles,  Nanna,  and  you  have 
no  need  to  try  to  do  so.  There  is  provision  made  for 
all  your  wants.'  And  she  flared  up  like  whin-bushes 
set  on  fire,  and  said  she  had  asked  neither  kirk  nor 
town  for  help,  and  that  she  trusted  in  God  to  deliver 
her  from  this  life  before  she  had  to  starve  or  take  a 
beggar's  portion." 

"  O  minister,  if  God  had  not  comforted  me  concern 
ing  her,  you  would  break  my  heart.  What  did  you 
say  to  the  dear  woman  ? " 

"  I  said,  <  It  is  neither  kirk  nor  town  nor  almsgivers 
that  have  provided  for  your  necessity,  Nanna ;  it  is 
your  cousin  David  Borson.'  And  when  she  heard 
your  name  she  began  to  cry,  '  0  David !  David ! ' 
And  after  I  had  let  her  weep  awhile  I  said,  l  You  will 


234  PRISONEES  OF  CONSCIENCE 

let  your  cousin  do  for  you  at  this  hour,  Nanna  ? '  And 
she  answered,  '  Oh,  yes ;  I  will  take  any  favor  from 
David.  It  was  like  him  to  think  of  me.  Oh,  that  he 
would  come  back ! ;  So  I  sent  her  every  week  ten 
shillings  until  she  died,  and  then  I  saw  that  she  was 
decently  laid  beside  her  mother  and  her  little  child ; 
and  I  paid  all  expenses  from  the  money  you  left. 
There  is  a  reckoning  of  them  in  the  papers.  Count  it, 
with  the  money." 

"  I  will  not  count  after  you,  minister." 
"  Well,  David,  God  has  counted  between  us.  It  is 
all  right  to  the  last  bawbee.  Now  tell  where  you  have 
been,  and  what  you  have  seen  and  suffered ;  for  it  is 
written  on  your  face  that  you  have  seen  manyhard  days." 
Then  David  told  all  about  his  wanderings  and  his 
shipwreck,  and  the  mercy  of  God  to  him  through  his 
servant  John  Priestly.  But  when  he  tried  to  speak 
of  the  new  revelation  of  the  gospel  that  had  come  to 
him,  he  found  his  lips  closed.  The  fire  that  had 
burned  on  them  the  night  before,  when  he  spoke 
under  the  midnight  sky  to  the  old  fisherman  and  the 
fisherwives,  was  dead  and  cold,  and  he  could  not  kin 
dle  it ;  so  he  said  to  himself,  "  It  is  not  yet  the  hour." 
And  he  went  out  of  the  manse  without  telling  one  of 
all  the  glorious  things  he  had  resolved  to  tell.  Neither 
was  he  troubled  by  the  omission.  He  could  wait 
God's  time.  God,  who  has  made  the  heart,  can  always 
touch  the  heart,  but  he  felt  that  just  then  his  words 
would  irritate  rather  than  move ;  besides,  it  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  speak  unless  he  got  the  message. 
He  could  not  constrain  another  soul,  but  there  was 
One  who  led  by  invisible  cords. 


"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  235 

As  they  stood  a  moment  at  the  manse  door  the 
minister  said,  "  Your  aunt  Sabiston  has  gone  the  way 
of  all  flesh." 

"I  heard  tell,"  answered  David.  "How  did  she 
go?" 

"  Like  herself —grim  and  steadfast  to  the  last.  She 
would  not  take  to  her  bed ;  she  met  death  in  her  chair. 
When  the  doctor  told  her  Death  was  in  the  room,  she 
stood  up,  and  welcomed  him  to  her  house,  and  said,  i  I 
have  long  been  waiting  for  your  release.'  I  tried  to 
talk  to  her,  but  she  told  me  to  my  face  that  I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  her  soul.  '  If  I  am  lost,  I  am  lost/ 
she  said ;  '  and  if  I  am  chosen,  who  shall  lay  anything 
to  the  charge  of  God's  elect  ? ;  She  said  she  believed 
herself  to  be  the  child  of  God,  and  that,  though  she 
had  made  some  sore  stumbles  and  been  fractious  and 
ill  to  guide,  she  had  done  no  worse  than  many  of  his 
well-loved  bairns,  and  she  expected  no  worse  welcome 
home.  '  I  have  been  long  away,  minister/  she  sighed, 
'  getting  on  to  a  century  away,  and  I  '11  be  glad  to  win 
home  again.'  And  those  were  her  last  words." 

"  God  be  merciful  to  her !  In  this  world,  I  think, 
she  was  an  unjust  and  cruel  woman." 

"  She  was  so,  then,  without  moral  disquietude.  The 
sin  had  got  into  her  soul,  and  she  was  comfortable 
with  it.  God  is  her  judge.  He  only  knew  her  aright. 
She  left  her  money  wisely  and  for  good  ends." 

"I  heard  tell,  to  the  kirk  and  the  societies  and 
the  freedom  fund.  Yet  she  had  kinsfolk  in  the  Ork 
neys." 

"  They  are  all  very  rich.  They  went  to  lawyers 
about  her  property,  but  Mistress  Sabiston  had  made 


236  PEISONEKS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

all  too  fast  and  sure  for  any  one  to  alter.  She  was  a 
woman  that  would  have  her  way,  dead  or  alive." 

"  Well,  then,  this  time,  it  seems,  her  way  is  a  good 
way." 

After  this  David  settled  his  life  very  much  on  the 
old  lines.  He  went  to  live  in  Nanna's  cottage,  and 
returned  to  the  boats  and  the  fishing  with  Groat's  sons. 
As  for  his  higher  duty,  that  vocation  that  had  come  to 
him  on  that  blessed  night  when  God  opened  his  mouth 
and  he  spoke  wonderful  and  gracious  things  of  his 
law,  he  was  never  for  a  moment  recreant  to  it.  But 
the  kingdom  of  God  frequently  comes  without  obser 
vation.  To  preach  a  sermon,  that  was  a  thing  far 
outside  David's  possibilities.  The  power  of  the  church, 
and  its  close  and  exclusive  privileges,  were  at  that 
day  in  Shetland  papal  in  prerogative.  David  never 
dreamed  of  encroaching  on  them ;  nor,  indeed,  would 
public  opinion  have  permitted  him  to  do  so. 

As  it  was,  there  grew  gradually  a  feeling  of  unrest 
about  David.  Though  he  was  humble  and  devout  in 
all  kirk  exercises,  it  was  known  that  the  people  gathered 
round  him  not  only  in  his  own  cottage,  but  at  Groat's 
and  Barbara  Traill's,  and  that  he  spoke  to  them  of  the 
everlasting  gospel  as  never  man  had  spoken  before  to 
them.  It  was  known  that  when  the  boats  lay  stilly 
rocking  on  the  water,  waiting  for  the  "  take,"  David, 
sitting  among  his  mates,  reasoned  with  them  on  the 
love  of  God,  until  every  face  of  clay  flushed  with  a 
radiance  quite  different  from  mere  color— a  radiance 
that  was  a  direct  spiritual  emanation,  a  shining  of  the 
soul  through  mere  matter.  And  as  these  men  were 
all  theologians  in  a  measure,  with  their  "  creed  "  and 


"AT  LAST  IT  IS  PEACE"  239 

"  evidences  "  at  their  tongues'  end,  it  was  a  wonderful 
joy  to  watch  their  doubts,  like  the  needle  verging  to 
the  pole,  tremble  and  tremble  into  certainty. 

In  about  three  years  such  opposition  as  David  roused 
was  strong  enough  to  induce  the  kirk  to  consider  his 
behavior.  The  minister  sent  for  him,  and  in  the  pri 
vacy  of  his  study  David's  opportunity  came  at  last. 
For  he  spoke  so  eloquently  and  mightily  of  the  mercy 
of  the  Infinite  One  that  the  minister  covered  his  face, 
and  when  the  young  man  ceased  speaking,  he  looked 
tenderly  at  him,  and  sent  him  away  with  his  blessing. 
And  afterward  he  said  to  the  elders : 

"  There  is  nothing  to  call  a  session  anent.  David 
Borson  has  been  to  the  school  of  Christ,  and  he  is 
learned  in  the  Scriptures.  We  will  not  silence  him, 
lest  haply  we  be  found  to  be  fighting  against  God." 

Thus  for  many  a  year  David  went  in  and  out  among 
his  mates  and  friends,  living  the  gospel  in  their  sight. 
The  memory  of  Nanna  filled  his  heart ;  he  loved  no 
other  woman,  but  every  desolate  and  sorrowful  woman 
found  in  him  a  friend  and  a  helper.  And  he  drew  the 
little  children  like  a  magnet.  He  was  the  elder  brother 
of  every  boy  and  girl  who  claimed  his  love ;  his  hands 
were  ever  ready  to  help  them,  his  heart  was  ever  ready 
to  love  them.  And  in  such  blessed  service  he  grew 
nobly  aged. 

He  had  come  to  Shetland  when  the  islands  were 
very  far  off,  when  the  Norse  element  ruled  them,  and 
the  Christianized  men  and  women  of  the  sagas  dwelt 
alone  in  the  strong,  quaint  stone  houses  they  had  built. 
He  lived  to  see  the  influx  of  the  southern  race  and 
influences,  the  coming  of  modern  travel  and  civiliza- 


240  PRISONERS  OF  CONSCIENCE 

tion ;  but  he  never  altered  his  life,  for  in  its  simple, 
pious  dignity  it  befitted  any  era. 

Now,  it  is  noticeable  that  good  men  very  often  have 
their  desire  about  the  manner  of  their  death.  And 
God  so  favored  his  servant  David  Borson.  He  went 
out  alone  one  day  in  his  boat,  and  a  sudden  storm 
came  up  from  the  northeast.  He  did  not  return. 
Some  said  there  had  been  no  time  to  take  in  the  boat's 
sail,  and  that  she  must  have  gone  down  with  her  can 
vas  blowing ;  others  thought  she  had  become  unman 
ageable  and  drifted  into  some  of  the  dangerous  "races" 
near  the  coast. 

But,  this  manner  or  that  manner,  David  went  to 
heaven  as  he  desired,  "by  the  way  of  the  sea,"  and 
God  found  his  body  a  resting-place  among  its  cool, 
clean  graves— a  sepulcher  that  no  man  knoweth  of, 
nor  shall  know  until  the  mighty  angel  sets  his  right 
foot  upon  the  sea,  and  swears  that  there  shall  "  be  time 
no  longer." 


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